The end of things: A Pokemon Rangers Fanfic
by Rocko Wallaby
Summary: Sometimes, when the thing you care for most dies, you're forced to go on anyway. Doesn't mean you enjoy it. You just have to accept it. But, sometimes life takes a turn you don't expect. That's the reason you go on living...
1. Chapter 1: Poachers:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

The following story may or may not bear any resemblance to characters and places, real or imaginary. To a large degree, they're a product of my rather vivid, and sometimes disturbed, imagination. I don't follow any specific story line, and I'm the first to admit I'm open to stretching the subject material way beyond anything recognisable to those who play the games.

That's the point of such fiction. Don't be held by limited boundaries. Express your imagination.

Emphasis on YOUR imagination, though. Please don't reuse, refuse or recycle any of my personal characters, plot lines, concepts, or other such stuff without my permission, thanks. Some of this stuff is personally inspired, so doing so would be really...aggravating ;). In fact, it may result in drastic action on my part, causing me to be forced to slap you around some, probably with a dead fish. Likely a smoked cod. That would be unpleasant for all concerned, especially for the cod. So, be creative! The mind is a terrible thing to waste, so use it to create your own idea, leaving mine to fester in my mind where they belong ;)

This is also a work in progress. While I'm open to constructive criticism, especially relating to grammar and spelling issues (and I HATE poor grammar. It may all be the English language, but some people's interpretation of it is...unfortunate), I don't respond to trolls.  
If you don't have something useful to say, don't waste your breath.

Otherwise, I value the comments. This is the first thing I've written in a decade not related to dry, dusty research papers, so don't be surprised if it needs a bit of work ;)

Oh, and remember, this is written in English. As in, "English" spelling. Australian English, to be even more specific. We do things a little bit differently down here. So, if a word looks as if it's spelt wrong, check the alternative spelling first, before commenting, please, as being called a "bloody illiterate wanker" often offends ;)

Let me know what you think of it...

* * *

**Chapter 1: Poachers****.**

The door creaked loudly as I pushed it open and walked onto the old timber veranda that straddled the rear of the cottage. I made a mental note to do something about it, yet again, and yet again lost the thought into the back of my mind almost immediately. It was only one more thing to do, in a never ending list of things to do here. There were other priorities, important ones, and this wasn't one of them.

The timber cabin straddled a small ridge overlooking the evergreen forest I'd called my home for nearly a year now. Its perch allowed it an expansive view over the entire valley, with the dusky mountains acting as backdrop for the picture perfect panorama beneath. The creek, almost a small river now due to the ice melt cascading down its reaches, almost drowned out the noise of the local avian wildlife that attempted to overwhelm the senses. For such an isolated place in the middle of nowhere, it was certainly noisy enough. Regardless, it was an impressive place to live.

Some called the view "stunning" or "majestic". Many of these same people told me how lucky I was to live in a place like this, and that I should be "happy".

Yeah. Lucky. Happy. Words that had lost their meaning for me a long time ago.

Not that it wasn't dangerous here, at times. There were plenty of things up here that'd kill you, and enjoy doing so. Not just the cold and rain. People often went hiking in the upper valleys to enjoy the wilderness. But sometimes, the wilderness enjoyed them a bit too much in return. While most came back, every season a few didn't. Not common, for sure. But sometimes, they just vanished.

Nature is, at times, a harsh mistress.

That's why I love her.

I made my way down the gravel path that led to the work shed, swinging open the large timber doors which accessed the vehicle area. Securing the doors by their catches so that the gentle breeze wouldn't close them on me, I jumped into the driver's side of the Rangers truck. Tossing my lunch bag behind the seat, while checking the rear mirrors for anything still behind me, I ran my hands over the wheel, before sliding the key into the ignition. Waiting for the old diesels glow plugs to warm up enough to turn over, I tuned in some old Eagles classics I hadn't heard for a while, before settling with "Desperado"; a song that always struck a chord with me for some reason.

As far as a piece of shit goes, the truck wasn't too bad. Sure, it was ugly, but then again, I'm no beauty queen either. It ran...most of the time anyway, and was as reliable as you generally saw this far out from Ranger HQ. At least it handled the rougher tracks easily enough, in a place where technology was few and far between, and modern "conveniences" even rarer.

Plus, the radio worked. You can't ask for more than that.

After starting the engine, a cloud of black smoke spat out the exhaust, momentarily dimming the sunlight streaming through the doorway. Backing through the smoke, I decided to leave the shed doors open. After all, who the hell would steal anything from up here, anyway? Most of the time I didn't even bother locking up the house, or the small Rangers office attached to it, simply because there was nothing worthwhile in there to steal. If stealing a few pens, and some dirty dishes, got someone's rocks off, they were welcome to them. Besides, if they really wanted in, a crappy door lock wasn't going to stop them. Perhaps they'd even do the dishes before they left? It'd be one less thing to do on the chore list, anyway. There was no-one out here I needed to impress anymore, so who gave a shit. It was one of the few pleasures of living alone now.

They never bloody ended, those chores. Take today's Ranger priority list, for example. A group of 4 kids trying to get through the mountains had got stuck, and one of them had attempted to scale the cliff face to try and get help. Slipped, and ended up making pizza of himself on the rocks at the bottom. Fucks sake, they'd already called through to Ranger HQ on their 'dexes, and they'd been told that help was heading their way once the fog lifted the next morning. Had they waited, they would have had their happy ending. But no, someone had to be a hero, and "go for help."

Dead heroes don't help no-one.  
Another dead kid, making the news spotlight for an evening, before the world moved on, and no-one cared any more.  
If they ever really cared to start with.

The Eagles song reached its end as I approached the river. Shifting the truck into low range, I carefully began crossing the ford, watching for loose rocks that had shifted in the unusually strong current. The old girl made the bank easily enough, without being worse for wear, and churned up the gravel cutting onto the track to the mountains.

_"It may be raining,_

_But there's a rainbow above you._

_You'd better let somebody love you..._

_You'd better let somebody love you..._

_Before it's too late"_

I turned the radio off, before I began choking up again.  
Some things I couldn't handle well anymore.  
That was one of them.

However, luckily, my thankless tasks for the morning didn't involve scraping up splattered bodies, or rescuing hysterical survivors. Nor did it involve checking for lost pokeballs amongst the gore, and seeing if their contents had survived. I'd seen enough death to last me a lifetime, and HQ knew it.  
They left the search and recovery to those who still empathised with it.  
Me, I had bigger worries.

Poachers.  
More fucking poachers.  
And I fucking hate poachers.

The forests straddling these mountain valleys are a haven for more wildlife than any other part of Johto. It's like someone tried cramming every sort of animal into the one place, seeing what would survive to make a life of it here.

Bet whomever they were got a surprise when they all did.

In fact, you'd be hard pressed swinging a skitty around by the tail without taking at least one other pokemon out in the process.

It was that sort of place.

Is it noisy?  
Hell, yes.

Is it irritating?  
Damn right it is.

Is it amazing.  
Unfortunately, yes. Too amazing, unfortunately.

The abundance of wild life brought out all the "wannabes" of society, to "try their luck".

From kids looking for a new pokemon candidate to whoop some other trainers ass...  
To the researchers and scientists who studied the lot of them doing it.

Most of the time they kept to the lower valley, or the more well known sites such as the towers, or the ruins of Alph, leaving me to my peace and quiet in the upper reaches. Sometimes, they didn't, and I had to bear with them, and their endless inane questions. Used to drive me crazy, which wasn't much of a trip.

Storm used to laugh at my attitude to this, calling me a grumpy old bastard. He was right, I guess. Smart arse that he was. But back then, I seemed to have a much higher tolerance for the stupid factor, and could let it roll over me without pissing me off like it did now.

I guess I lost all that when that life ended.

So, kids and cretins. They were my lot to deal with.  
When their luck held, they went home happy.  
When it didn't, they went away in a black body bag.

The wilderness is like that, sometimes. Nature is a bitch.  
But at least she's my bitch.

Then, of course, there were the poachers.

They came for only one thing, of course. Wild pokemon. Bag them, tag them, and sell them.  
It wouldn't have been so bad if they actually gave a shit what they went for.

But all too often, their traps were indiscriminate in what they caught, with their occupants often ending up dead. Either killed by the traps they were caught in, or suffocated while crammed together in bags or cages on the way to the black market.

So, yes, I fucking hated poachers.

When the call came through of loud noises in the Upper Pass area, the first thought that went through HQ was poachers were up there yet again, causing more havoc.  
Their second though was to send me up there to deal with it.

They call it job satisfaction, because they know I like to handle poachers my way.

I call it "Karma".

And I handle poachers my way.

The truck rattled along the gravel track towards the upper valley, climbing through the forest in a cloud of dust. The roads here were never properly graded, given the lack of traffic. Occasionally they threw a dozer up here, but more often than not, it just made more of a mess of the road surface. A light shower would then turn the pass into the trail from hell, as the dirt here went from hard as rock to clogging clay if someone even farted water near it. In the upper reaches particularly, traversing a sticky, slippery hell-path, with a sheer cliff on one side, and a 200 foot drop off on the other, was no picnic.

At least not a picnic with a happy ending.

They were always on my back to dump the old rust bucket, and get with modern transportation.  
A pidgey, or charizard, or something. Jesus, even a fucking flygon if I wanted it.  
But I didn't want it. Not again.  
Eventually they stopped offering.  
I didn't ask again, so they didn't offer further.  
Worked for me.

The truck was an antique from a bygone era. An era when life was cheap, and work was easy. A relic from before technology had gone forever.  
Yeah, well, fuck that. I like the truck. Ugly POS she was.

Storm used to constantly take the piss about that, too.  
The truck is a shit bucket.  
The truck is unreliable.  
The truck will die on you at any moment, leaving us marooned to spend the night shivering in Shitsville, Nowhere!

Yeah, Storm...but when the truck dies on me, I can have her fixed.  
I couldn't do that with you now, partner, could I?  
No, I couldn't...

Shit...

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 2: Introductions**


	2. Chapter 2: Introductions:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko**

DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Introductions.**

My name is Scott Rivers, and I'm a Pokemon Ranger.  
3 years now, but who's counting.  
At least, that's what I tell the visitors I guide around the upper valleys.

Storm would laugh at that, telling me to stop looking so smug, and to get my fat Ranger head out of my fat Ranger ass.  
As if he can talk, the stumpy legged hypocrite! All he seems to do, Ranger wise, is to eat my food, drinks my booze, and flirt with the tourists pokemon.

His response to that is to shrug, and tell me he does all a Ranger gets paid for.  
If they started paying him some real money, perhaps he'd start doing some real work.  
But while he was being paid bananas, he'd keep acting like a primeape.

Always a comeback, that one.  
Always has to have the last word.  
Just what the world needs. A smart arse typhlosion.

Although, apparently, once the world had finished with him, it thought giving him to me to deal with would be kinda hilarious.  
Yeah, I almost pissed myself from the hilarity. Fucking funny, that.

Yet, mine he became, and neither of us seemed all that upset with the arrangement.  
After all, we'd been partners ever since.

We met, of all places, in the forest behind my school, when I was still in junior grades. I'd cut classes, yet again, bored to death on hearing more boring crap about handling yet another obscure pokemon, and having to memorise the obscure, boring crap it did.

I did that a lot, back then. Cutting class, I mean.

While I liked school well enough, and my grades were always high enough to escape notice, the rooms we were crammed into were hot, stifling and always made me feel a little claustrophobic.  
So I spent a lot of time making excuses why not to be in them.

In retrospect, the Ranger gig wasn't such a poor choice of careers, really.

The problem being, of course, is that when you cut and run like that, sometimes someone notices.  
Generally, I escape clean.  
But that time, I was seen.  
By Roy Snatcher, the snivelly little tosser.

Now, to be fair, Roy and I had a history going way back..  
Generally involving me punching the little shit in his face for being in MY face.  
Not a very good history, I admit, but I never claimed to be a good kid.

So, you can gather I didn't hold a great deal of affection for my mate, Roy.

Hall monitor by age 12, teachers butt licker from birth, he did what such toadies always do, when handed such a golden opportunity.  
The little prick shot off like a rocket, straight to the principal's office, to dob on me!

Well, the principal and I had a bit of history, too, and he must have been having a bad day in turn, cause he set the whole hoard on my trail.

Sure, it was only a half dozen seniors, but when you're 12, seniors look fucking HUGE! Mean, huge and nasty!

While my 12 year old ego could handle a Roy or three, if the opposition was twice my weight, and three times as ugly, I wasn't about to push my limits there.

So, after seeing them heading my way, I did what any intelligent, like minded kid would have done.

I piss-bolted for the bushes like brer rabbit!

After a while, their crashing and cursing progress died away, while I managed to work my way further into the forest depths. I was threatened with everything imaginable, and a few things that weren't, if I didn't come out right now!

I'm a lot of things, but I'm not stupid.  
I'd rather take my chances in the forest, thanks.

Soon enough, my steady progress through the forest had me distancing myself from their noise, and it wasn't long before I'd lost them completely.

Gasping for breath in a small wooded clearing, I slumped against the base of a huge forest giant, and attempted to get my bearings.

Looking around the dense green canopy overhead, and the thick matt of brush all around me, I knew exactly where I was...

Totally lost.

Most kids would be a bit freaked being in such a situation. Most adults, too.  
Thankfully, the label of "wild child" wasn't totally unjustified. In my backpack, I always kept a few "essentials" in case of being stuck out somewhere.

They included a water bottle, compass and map, matches, a thermal blanket, and a small first aid kit. A few granola bars left over from past days lunches topped off the list. Grabbing a swig from the bottle, and munching on a granola bar, I played around with the compass and map a bit, trying to get a feel for where, exactly, I was "lost", and the best plan to rectify the situation.

Intent on my musings, at first I didn't hear the faint rustling from the bushes across the small clearing I was in. But the added noise of quiet sobbing alerted me to the fact I wasn't alone.

So, I did what any normal self-respecting 12 year old would have done in the same situation.  
I called out in a quavering voice and made a total dick of myself.

"Err, hello? Who's there?"

The rustling stopped, although the sobs turned into quiet whimpers.

Not a little bit frightened by this time, I turned to the defensive, put on a bit of bravado, and called out again, a little louder this time.

"This is not funny! I'm not amused anymore! Come out before I come in and kick your arse!"

The bushes went silent.

Swearing under my breath, and brandishing my drink bottle before me as makeshift protection, I approached the bushes, pausing for a moment before parting them with a flourish.

A faint cry followed my actions.

I nearly jumped back with surprise. Lying curled up before me, beaten and battered, was a quilava.

"Shit!" I swore to myself, looking down at the matted, filthy creature lying at my feet.

"What the hell do I do with you?"

The quilava responded with another soft cry, before becoming quite still.

That worried me a bit.

"Err, hey quilava?".

Jesus, that sounded lame...

"Umm, you alright?"

No response.

I reached out to it gingerly, pressing my palm against its chest, ready to pull away if it turned out to be bluffing.  
It was warm, almost too warm. The matted fur was so soft to the touch, but somewhat sticky underneath my fingers.  
It didn't move further. In fact, it looked kinda dead.

I removed my hand from its side, looking at the mess now coating my hand.  
Blood.  
Lots of blood.  
Shit.

Checking it again, I pressed my hand against its neck, feeling for any signs it was, in fact, still alive.

A pulse was there. Faint, but present.  
Alive at least.

It had been pretty well messed up by whatever had hurt it. Apart from being generally knocked around, it had a large gash on its shoulder, and one rear leg seemed twisted pretty badly. It was bleeding from the nose, and one ear had a good sized chunk taken out of it, too. The rest of it seemed covered in too much blood and dirt to be healthy.

It looked like shit, to be honest.

I thought about the tiny first aid kit I had in my backpack, and knew it wasn't going to be much good here. The quilava needed proper medical attention, and needed it fast,

Now, I had a general idea where I was. My escape had seen me cutting a large arc through the forest, ending up within a few miles of the town centre.  
In the town centre was a Pokemon Centre.  
Could I get it there? More to the point, would it let me get it there?

One thing I knew well about wild pokemon, even back then.

They were plenty wild.

After nearly losing the tip of a finger to a natu I'd thought was asleep the year before, I was somewhat wary tangling with something as dangerous looking as a quilava.  
Not that it was especially dangerous looking at the moment, being more unconscious and helpless looking instead.

Then again, so had that bloody natu!

Sighing in resignation, I pulled out my thermal blanket, and gingerly wrapped the quilava in the silvery sheet, being careful not to burn myself on the faint heat still radiating from its back and head. While its flame had been extinguished, I didn't want any unwelcome surprises.

I carefully picked it up, cradling it to my chest as I took my bearings, and set off in the approximate direction of the centre.

The trek wasn't easy by any means. The quilava was heavy. Bloody heavy, in fact. My earlier bolt through the forest had already tired me out, and another run with the dead weight cradled in my arms wasn't helping my fatigue level.

At one point, the quilava woke, staring at me with its big, round eyes. It didn't move, or try to escape. It just stared up at me from within my arms.

I glanced down to it, and did a bit of a double take when I saw it was awake and staring at me. I was even more surprised it hadn't tried to struggle loose from my grip.

"Hey, quilava." Urk...still lame. "I'm, umm, taking you down to the pokemon centre to get you fixed up, OK? We'll be there soon, so keep still for me, huh?"

I didn't expect any real response, but was taken aback when it looked at me again, and nodded, before closing its eyes and falling asleep again.

Did it nod then?  
What the hell? Did it understand me?

It took an eternity to break free of the forest, and reach the road leading into town. I hurried as best I could, with the weight in my arms dragging at me, and ignored the shocked stares from passerby's, both human and pokemon.  
One would think they'd never seen a kid running around with a blood covered quilava in a silver sheet before!

Finally, I reached the Pokemon Centre.

I was told afterwards I pretty much floored the whole lot of them, bursting into the centre looking like death himself, covered in blood and muck, and with a wild pokemon in my arms.

However, the hesitation only lasted a second, before Nurse Joy and her crew swarmed over us, taking the still bleeding bundle from my arms, and hurrying with it out to the emergency area with her assistants in tow.

I don't remember much after that. I do recall almost falling asleep in the waiting area, and someone pushing a cup of hot chocolate into my hands. I also remember someone asking if they could contact my parents for me, so they wouldn't worry. I gave them the information almost mechanically...my folks were used to my staying out late, and generally didn't worry. A hurried phone discussion between my folks and the orderly ended in my being allowed to stay at the centre that night, until I was ready to leave.

After that, everything was pretty much a blur.  
A long, exhausting and mentally draining blur.

It was after midnight before Nurse Joy finally came out from the emergency room. Most of the centre staff had already left for the evening, so after talking briefly with the night orderly, she came over and sat down beside me with a tired sigh.

I stared blankly at her for a few seconds, before getting the courage to ask the question that had been burning through me all evening.

"Nurse Joy? How is it? The quilava I mean?"

She gave another tired sigh and then turned to me, with an even more tired looking smile.

"You did well, Scott. More than well, in fact. Any longer, and we probably would have lost him. But you managed to pull off a miracle getting him here in time. He's still a mess, I'm afraid, but with time, he's going to be fine"

I nearly passed out there and then from a combination of relief and exhaustion. Sensing this, Nurse Joy turned to me, took my hand in hers, and said "You're exhausted, I know, but...do you want to see him?"

I looked at her a bit dazed. "Is it OK?"

She nodded at me again tiredly, before coaxing me to my feet, and guiding me through the double doors to the rear ward. In the corner, on a bed looking to big for his frail frame, was the quilava.

I approached quietly, looking down at him sleeping. His wounds had been stitched, and some attempt had been made to clean him up, but he still looked beat.

Joy saw me looking at his wounds, and said "We couldn't put him in the healing station without a ball, so we did the best we could. It'll take time, but he should recover completely"

I stared down at him again, reaching out gingerly and placing my hand on his side, caressing his fur gently. It was so soft. He seemed so frail, all skin and bones.

I turned back to the nurse, who looked at me solemnly.

"Does he have a name, Nurse Joy"

"I don't know, Scott" She replied. "He's clearly a wild pokemon, so there's no way of knowing."

"Storm" a quiet, husky voice broke the silence.  
"My name is Storm"

Joy and I both turned to the bed incredulously.

The quilava stared up at us, before reaching out gingerly and grabbing my hand with his paw, from where it still rested on his side.

Looking me in the eyes, he gave my hand a squeeze, before releasing it and dropping back in exhaustion. Within moments he was fast asleep.

Joy and I crept out of the ward, where she guided me into the nurses quarters. Grabbing a hot chocolate from the vending machine for us both, she sighed, dropped into a plastic chair, and looked at me seriously where I was leaning in bewilderment against the lunchroom table.

"I guess you have a talking pokemon now" she said tiredly.

"I do?"

She gave a half laugh, stretching her arms behind her head before putting her feet up on the table in front of her.

"You sure do. He's your responsibility now. Hope you're up to it"

She wasn't the only one.

So did I.

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 3: When the Storm came...**


	3. Chapter 3: When the Storm came:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 3: When the Storm came...**

I continued to weave the truck up the gravel road, avoiding the washouts in the track, and keeping as much distance to the drop off to the left. Not a place where you'd want to meet someone coming in the other direction, certainly. Not that it was likely. There is nothing up here but trees, rocks and pokemon.

No further information had been sent by HQ on the origin of the noise heard earlier in the higher reaches. It could have been anything, from something wild and big, to a natural disturbance. But poachers were always a concern, and not investigating was paramount to wholesale slaughter, if they were involved.

I'd been on the road over 2 hours already, so reached back to grab a drink from my cooler. Taking a big swig of the cool liquid washed some of the road dust from my throat, and I readjusted my sunglasses to keep the glare under control. People often assumed that the high reaches were misty and wet, and they often were. But they could be equally glorious, on the days when the sun broke through the clouds. I would live here for the view, if nothing else. It stretched on endlessly. No smog, or dirt, or other "advantages" of living in the bigger towns. Here, you were on your own, and had no one to answer to.

I remember once coming up during our training to check out a spectacular waterfall formed by snow melt, that only flowed a few weeks every year. It fell from the upper cliffs over 300 feet, crashing into an ice cold pool at its base. I'd walked to the edge of the pool standing on the sandy gravel at its edge, and could see deep into its crystal depths the carp swimming there. A good place for fishing, I thought, regretting for a moment that I'd left my rod and gear back at home. Perhaps not swimming, though, until late summer. It would have to be almost freezing in that water. I don't mind the cold, but there's a limit.

I heard soft steps coming up behind, crunching through the gravel until the tall figure stood beside me. I looked over to Storm, who looked back and grinned, before pointing to the dark shapes circling in the water depths.

"Lunch?" he asked, hopefully?

I grinned at him and shook my head. "Not today, mate. Left the gear at home"

He shook his head and started to walked off, grumbling something about other ways to catch lunch than fishing gear. I ignored his bitching, and went back to admiring the scene.

Suddenly, a paw to the back sent me flying into the lake.

I plunged into the freezing water pretty deep, before struggling to the surface, spluttering and gasping for air, and cursing him loudly while treading water.

Swimming to the water's edge, I was suddenly grabbed by the shirt collar and pulled out by a strong grip, to stand dripping and shivering on the bank. Glaring at the widely grinning typhlosion standing near me, I was about to explode, when he looked at me again and said "So what about now? Got lunch yet?"

So I did what needed to be done.  
I reached over and pushed the big bastard in to get it for us.

After all, revenge is a fish dish best served on an open fire, grilled to perfection. We had our lunch, and both sat, dripping and chilled, while we ate it.

It was a brilliant day, after all.

The wet fur smell stinking up the place, and muttered comments on "taking forever to dry" that dominated the conversation as we ate was only the icing on the cake.

* * *

"So, you can talk, huh?"

"Yep"

"That's pretty cool"

"Yep"

"Are you going to say anything besides Yep?"

"Nope"

Smart arse. You can gather nothing had changed there from the moment we'd met each other.

We walked back through town towards my house, down the main street, with Storm frequently stopping and looking through the shop windows. He seemed inexhaustibly curious about everything he saw, almost like he'd never seen such things before.

For all I know, perhaps he hadn't. Who am I to stop him enjoying himself.

Nurse Joy had kept him in the pokemon centre for a further 5 days, until the bulk of his wounds had began healing. The stitches still needed to be removed in another 3 days, but she felt he was able to leave, provided he kept the physical exertion to a minimum. I'd visited him every day, whenever I was able, and spent at least a few hours after school with him.

At first, he was reluctant to speak with me, but with some gentle coaxing, he began to open up, responding with questions of his own.

Turns out he'd come off second best in an argument with a charizard. While the big reptile couldn't touch him easily with his flame, it didn't stop him belting the hell out of the smaller pokemon, before leaving him bleeding and battered to die in the forest.

The quilava had regained consciousness some time later, realising he was in serious trouble. In his near delirious state, he began crawling desperately and painfully through the forest, trying to find somewhere he could recover. With his strength quickly waning, he managed to find the small clearing I'd stumbled into, only to collapse onto the wet grass in exhaustion. Losing consciousness for a while, it was only my noisy, stumbling progress through the brush that woke him up and had him crawling into the bushes to safety. But that was as far as he went. Collapsing completely, and in agony from his injuries, he couldn't help but cry out in pain, gaining my attention and resulting in his subsequent rescue.

"So, how'd you learn to talk?"

"Went to school, read a book, and learned my letters. How's anyone learn to talk?" he snapped back at me, glaring before dropping his eyes and turning back to the bakery window where he stood drooling at the contents of the window.

Touchy subject, there. I left that alone for the time being.

In general, when discussing himself, he was pretty reticent. He asked a lot of questions about my life, and family, my dreams, but was taciturn in providing information on himself in return.

I didn't push him too much on it. It was clear there was some pain there, and who was I to drag it up.

We're all allowed our privacy, and we all have our hidden pasts.

"So, what now?"

"Back to the forest, as soon as I can"

I stopped for a moment before gazing down, grinding my foot into the concrete beneath me. I knew what I wanted to say, but I was almost afraid of the answer I might receive.

"You don't have to go back there if you don't want to, you know"

He turned to me and looked into my face quizzically, before cocking his head and muttering a reply under his breath.

"Why? Do you know an alternative?"

I stared down at him for an instant, wanting to ask him the obvious. He could stay with me, if he wanted. I wanted him to. I needed him to. I needed a friend pretty badly, and he was the friend I needed.

So, I gathered up my courage and blurted out the first thing that sprang to mind...

"Do you want a donut? They're really good here!"

He looked back at the window, then back at me, went to say something, stopped, raised his eyebrows again, and replied "Umm, sure. Yeah, I'd like that a lot"

So, we bought donuts, which were really as good as I said, and walked the rest of the way to my place, where he stayed with us and, over time, became a member of my family.

Nothing more needed to be said.

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 4: Decisions made.**


	4. Chapter 4: Decisions made:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby**

DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Decisions made.**

I finally made it to the clearing near the waterfall, just on dusk. I'd thought about heading further up the range, but the dwindling daylight and increasing wind chill made me reconsider so, with a sigh, I pulled up in the small camping area near the lagoon, bringing the trick to a halt just short of the water's edge.

It was just as I remember from the last time. While the roar of the cascading waters had a tendency to drown out the surrounding wildlife, it also had a peaceful, rhythmic beat to it, courtesy of some irregularity in the rocks underneath the fall, I assumed.

It really was a beautiful place, and I should have visited more often.

However, the memories, while good, were still too painful.

I dropped the tailgate and pulled out my camping gear, dumping it in an untidy pile near the rear of the truck. I preferred to keep close to the old girl, both as protection from the sometimes unpredictable weather, but also for having the safe house in the event something large and hungry decided to investigate me and my gear a little too personally.

I set up my swag, and blew a bit more air into the self inflating mattress. Ranger or not, an uncomfortable night sleep lead to an uncomfortable day following, and I liked my bed comfortable.

My cooking gear followed next, setting up the folding hot plates over the cold remains of the previous fire. I also grabbed some logs from a bag in the back of the truck, squeezing them underneath the hot plate ready for lighting. Yes, I do realise it sounds strange bringing pre-cut firewood into a forest, but when you've been forced to scrounge around in the dark and rain looking for dry wood, which then needs to be cut to size, as many times as I have, you'll realise the benefit of being prepared for anything.

Besides, cutting wood at your leisure at home, while downing a cold beer, was much more enjoyable than doing it after a hard day in the field.

With the fire lit and bedding set, and my chair perched near the warmth of the fire's edge, I sat back and let out a long sigh, stretching my toes towards the warmth. It had been years since I was last up here. I'd been studiously avoiding the place all that time. On a couple of occasions, I'd grabbed my fishing gear with the intention of coming up here to try my luck, but something always seemed to come up before I left.

Or perhaps that was just an excuse.

Besides, as Storm had said, there are other ways to catch fish, if you're desperate enough.

I just wasn't that desperate anymore.

While there was still enough light to make out the details, I pulled out my topographical map of the area and pondered where to head the next day. A few options presented themselves. While the chance of the noises being caused by poachers was high, there were certainly other possibilities, and at that point, I had seen no other signs that anyone had came this way recently.

Chewing on some jerky I found in my kit while my dinner simmered in the fire pit, I considered the likelihood of the noises being natural. It was certainly a possibility. All sorts of strange and odd pokemon lived this far up in the wilderness, and I wouldn't put it past something big causing all the commotion.

Another option was a land slip, or even an avalanche in the areas higher up still covered in snow. The spring thaw, while well underway, took it's time reaching those higher peaks, and it wasn't unusual to have an avalanche occur even late into summer, to the detriment of more than one unwary tourist.

Thing is, I had a gut feeling about this one, and I'd learnt over the years to trust such feelings, as they tended to be accurate more often than not.

This feeling reeked of poachers.

Besides, I needed to let off some steam. Poachers would do just fine, thanks.

I ducked back to the truck, and reached behind the seats to the weapons locker located there. Hunting was illegal in all areas of the reserve, but as a Ranger, I had to be prepared to deal with anything I encountered, either human or animal. Not that I had any right to go shooting at anything that looked dangerous, mind. However, poachers were another matter.

It had been 20 years since the introduction of the "Wildlife Protection and Proliferation Act" by the governing council. Before this, it was a free for all blood-bath of hunting and fishing, all in the name of "recreation". Over the years, the uncontrolled removal of animals from various reserves, both here and elsewhere, had caused the local populations of animals to dwindle alarmingly, and in a few cases and a few species, extinction was looming.

So, the Ranger leaders came up with the Act, which was then effectively forced through the council for approval. It was a "protect or procrastinate" scenario, and the Rangers back then weren't overly tolerant of procrastinators.

Did it cause trouble with the yahoo's who felt their weapon ownership was an Arceus given right?

Oh, hell yeah. The courts were clogged for years, with every redneck in the land demanding their right to slaughter their share of wild pokemon indiscriminately be honoured.

No surprise the pokemon concerned tended to get pretty grumpy when they encountered humans violating their territories.

However, all the laws in the land couldn't prevent the small minority sneaking in and killing off anything they found in the area. A law is only as good as the enforcement it produced, and at first, little was done to really police it.

So the Rangers were called in to pick up the pieces.

Most of the time, our duties involve education, and confiscation of illegal weapons.

Personally, I had a reasonably tolerant attitude to most visitors, and only used confiscation where necessary.

However, there was another side to the powers we were granted.

In a situation where our lives were endangered, or the lives of pokemon were in the balance, we were granted the use of lethal force, if necessary.

Poachers rarely went without a fight. They often were better armed than we are, and had no compulsion in taking out a Ranger who stood in the way of them, and their profit.

Given the choice, I prefer taking out a few poachers, than dealing with the alternative.

I checked over the 12 gauge I'd removed from the cabinet, and made sure it was clean, and fully loaded.

No point being unprepared, either for the night, or for the following day.

Putting the weapon in a canvas sleeve near my swag, as protection against any possible rain, I climbed into the bed and turned off the camp light.

Lying back, I stared at the glory of the heavens, unpolluted by the city lights, and sighed deeply, before turning on my side and falling asleep.

* * *

Of course, life wasn't completely free from unexpected complications when Storm joined the clan.

Toilet training was easy enough, particularly given you could instruct him in exactly what to do, and where to do it.

Although catching a quilava perched on the john, while reading a comic book (yeah, he hadn't bullshitted about the reading ability, either), was fucking hilarious.

Until he learnt to close the door, which he did in a huff whenever he was caught out. He never did see the funny side of that, and often took great offense when we broke into hysterical laughter after catching him parading around with toilet paper stuck in his quills.

For such a practical joker, he often had a poor sense of humour.

Other things took a bit more practice.

Bathing was one. He just couldn't see the need.

Weeks passed before we could convince him the water wouldn't kill him, or make his fur fall out, or "dilute his male essence", any of the numerous other lame excuses he came up with to avoid getting wet.

Finally, it was only after being threatened by my old man to " take his stinking carcass out on the back porch to sleep", that he finally caved in, albeit reluctantly, and agreed to some basic hygiene rules.

Otherwise, my folks took to him almost immediately. They always had been "pokemon people" and having a walking, talking fur-ball in the house was a novelty that didn't seem to end for them. Course, at times he came across a bit...colloquial...and he needed to be reminded that there were, in fact, some topics that were best not brought up at the dinner table, especially when my parent's friends were over. Storm thought this was just hilarious, and seemed to take endless pleasure in beng even more disgusting and obnoxious. Of course, it earned him more nights on the back porch, but at least this time he deserved them.

What did they expect? He was new to all this.

Sleeping arrangements were another thing. For such a dominant creature, he had a real issue with sleeping in a room alone. When we first put him up in the spare bedroom, we'd be awakened during the night by loud shrieks, only to find him cowering in the corner of the bed with the blankets wrapped around his head.

He never discussed his fears with us, but over time, it became such a problem my parents relented, and let him sleep in my room. While he had a cot my dad made up for him, most mornings I found him tucked into the bottom corner of my bed, snoring peacefully under the sheets.

I never minded his company. In the end, my parents gave up on it, and let him in peace.

At least they got a full night's rest that way.

He was also rather odd for his species. Not that I really had any personal direct experience with pokemon in general, let alone his kind, but from the moment I encountered him in the forest, he'd never showed any inkling to shoot flame from his back and head. The best he ever managed was a bit of steam, and even this was pretty ineffective.

Of course, it made his living in the house a lot easier, as my folks had this fear of waking one night with the place burning around us. The way he was, he never even smouldered the sheets, or set the smoke detectors off. In all, he was a pretty good house guest and, overall, did nothing much my folks complained about.

He made up for it, though, by being a fast, tough little bastard.

I recall the first day I took him to school. One of the senior kids, of a mind to strut his stuff, wandered over behind Storm and, after calling him a runt, decided to clip him over the head behind his heat patches.

Not a clever idea, that.

After receiving a good smack to the ears, and another to the stomach, which left him gasping in pain on the floor, the bully ended up apologising to an irate, grumpy quilava, who stood over him with his paws balled into fists until he was satisfied with the response.

While it earned us both a detention (the bully and I, that is. Storm just came along for the ride, and to laugh at us while we moped doing an essay in "Why I should respect pokemon"), at least it stopped any further harassment from the other students, most of whom were in awe of him for beating the crap out of the guy.

Of course, some people never got the hint.

The pokeball incident was one of these.

I'd just gotten back from a field excursion, where the class had been taken out to the Rangers HQ to see them in operation. I suppose it made an impression on me, given my later career choices in that area.

Storm had decided to stay home for this one, having seen enough forest to last him a life time. Besides, mum was making poffins, and she clearly needed assistance.

Typical.

I'd been dropped off the school bus just down the road from my house, and Storm had planned on meeting me there.

What I hadn't expected, was that someone was waiting for him first.

Following the incident some months earlier when I'd found Storm in the forest, I'd managed to catch up with my good friend, Roy Snatcher. I never had liked dobbers, and his being responsible for a month worth of detention had left a fairly sour taste in my mouth.

So, I ended up planting a fist in his. Repeatedly.

This didn't help the situation, as I found myself in even more hot water, but it did achieve 2 things: One, he kept his distance from us from that time on.

And two, shit, it felt good!

As I said, I wasn't a nice kid sometimes.

However, I should have realised things wouldn't end there. While I went on with my life, Roy stewed on the matter until he came up with a solution he thought would fix us both.

He'd capture Storm in a pokeball, and take him from me.

The whole pokeball issue was a real sticking point for Storm. Until then, he had refused point blank even to consider getting in one. While I personally couldn't blame him, there were some legal ramifications he refused to believe with remaining "wild", namely that unless he was "caught", he was a prime target for any would be dipshit trainer who thought they'd have a go catching him themselves.

We'd argued about this endlessly, until I simply gave up and let him have his way.

That was my mistake.

Roy thought otherwise. Knowing I'd be away on the trip, and realising it was more than likely Storm would wait for me at the bus stop, he hatched a plan to capture Storm before I arrived, claiming his ownership from me. In doing so he would realise his revenge on the both of us.

What he didn't plan for, though, was Storm's willingness to rip him a new one when he tried.

After being surprised by the first attempt, Storm shrugged off the ball's ray of light with some difficulty, and was glaring around for the source of the assault. While Roy tried frantically to capture him a second time, the quilava stalked him furiously, before knocking him on his arse, and belting the shit out of him.

By the time I'd arrived on the Scene, Roy was quite unconscious, not to mention black and blue, and the creature standing over him roaring loudly, was no longer a quilava.

He'd evolved into a typhlosion.

Shit! A very big, very pissed off typhlosion!

With the help of some bystanders, we managed to calm the now much larger creature down enough to get the story from him. Apparently, the capture didn't succeed, purely due to Storm's will power. He was so determined to not be caught, the ray couldn't take a hold on him.

The strain had still taken its toll, however, resulting in the burst of energy causing his evolution.

When Officer Jenny had arrived, she took our statements, and arranged for Roy to be stretchered to the waiting ambulance. She looked seriously at the still fuming typhlosion, before giving me the pointed advice that I needed to ensure he remained under control in the future, or she wouldn't be able to cut me the same slack next time. I promised to deal with it, before she sent me packing for home, sheepish typhlosion in tow.

Needless to say, my parents were also unimpressed, although they did understand the situation better than I'd hoped. With Roy recovering in hospital, and little permanent injury to show for it, we had lucked out there. However, mum turned to Storm, looking up at the typhlosion now dominating the kitchen where we stood, and told him, bluntly, to mind his manners in the future. After 5 minutes of berating, I almost grinned, having received the same speech many times before, but the effects on Storm were much more obvious. His ears drooped, and his whole body shook, to the point mum relented a bit, and told him he could go think about what he'd done. With this, he spun and bolted for our room, hiding himself under the bed covers to escape further punishment.

The big pussy.

Although mum could be real scary when she wanted to be.

It did lead to one positive, though. I'd picked up the pokeball Roy had used to try and catch Storm, pocketing it after the incident. It wasn't till I was home that I realised I still had it. Aimlessly tossing and catching it in my right hand while doing an assignment essay I had been set as homework following the Ranger HQ trip, I didn't hear Storm approach until I felt him nuzzle into my neck in apology. Gently stroking his fur, he finally calmed down enough to stammer out a further apology for his behaviour.

Finally sitting back on the floor facing me, he sighed and told me I'd better get it over with.

"Get what over with?" I replied in confusion.

He pointed at the ball, sighed again, then waited for my response.

Looking at the ball curiously, I held it out towards him, pressing the capture button as he pressed his nose against it.

A blinding flash of red light later, and he was gone, leaving me holding a momentarily shaking ball, that quickly went quiet.

I immediately released him from the ball, and was smothered by his response, my face pressed tightly into his chest fur as he hugged me closely.

"Thanks" he whispered to me, still clutching me to him firmly, paws kneading my back gently.

"Don't mention it" I replied in a muffled voice, through the fur in my mouth.

And that's how I captured my first, and only, pokemon.

Not that he spent any time in the ball. It was a silent agreement between us he wouldn't have to.

Neither of us minded though. Life simply went on as usual.

Although my bed now seemed a damned sight smaller than it used to!

The lard arse!

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 5: Silent progress.**


	5. Chapter 5: Silent Progress:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Silent progress.**

I woke the next morning with the sun streaming in my face, and a wooper with its tongue in my ear.  
Faaaaark...yuuuuck!  
Jumping out of the swag in a flurry of sheets, I chased the little bastard away, cursing loudly at its retreating form as it scurried in panic back into the nearby water.  
I sometimes wonder what the hell is wrong with some of these creatures. If they weren't trying to kill you or eat you, they were trying to smother you to death with affection! Talk about extremes!

Grumbling, I went to the truck, grabbing yesterday's shirt to wipe the slobber out of my ear. After getting the bulk of the disgusting stuff out, I relit the fire, and put on the kettle for a morning brew.  
With coffee finally in hand, I relaxed with a sigh back into my camp chair, and used the opportunity to take in the scenery.  
It really was magnificent.  
The grass glistened with morning dew, and the light haze of mist partially obscuring the waterfall added a surreal, almost mystic atmosphere to the view.  
It really was breathtaking.

Yes, well, enough of that shit. I'm fucking hungry.

I grabbed a slab of meat and some eggs from my cooler, putting them in the cast iron frypan and ground the pan into the bed of coals I had made to the side of the main fire. Leaving it to cook, I cut some bread, and put it on the grill next to the pan to toast, before hurriedly pouring myself another cup of coffee.  
Yes, I'm one of those people. If I don't get my 2 cups of caffeine before 8am, I'm a foul, grumpy ursaring for the rest of the day.

I dumped the toast onto a plate, and piled the rest of the stuff on top, covering the lot with a liberal application of smoky BBQ sauce. Plenty of salt, another swig of coffee, and breakfast was served.  
It still felt funny making this for one, though.  
There was a time when...well...  
Forget it.

After scrubbing my plate and the frypan in fresh sand to remove the bulk of the grease, I washed it in some lake water I'd heated in the coffee pot, while avoiding getting any of the contaminated water in the lake itself. Packing up my bedding didn't take long, and I threw the whole lot into the back of the truck for safe keeping, leaving only my chair near the fire pit to show for my presence.

Back to work, then.  
I double checked my shotgun, making sure everything was clean and functional, before strapping an 8 inch bowie knife to my right calf, underneath my khaki's. I went back to the truck, and carefully removed my compound bow from the cabinet, taking it from its soft case and inspecting it carefully. It was a Marksman Camo XT, with 60lb draw and Apex Tundra bow sight. Coupled with Grundman 27 inch carbon shaft arrows, and Murray MX-5 tri-blade broad head points, it could accurately penetrate even the toughest hide from as far as 70 yards, and probably take out a dragonite if it was feeling unlucky. Yes, a shotgun can do a lot of damage at a shorter range, but nothing compares with a well placed hunting arrow for sheer long range, not to mention silent, devastation.  
Besides, while I was a damn good shot either way, taking along a backup option never hurt.

I strapped the shotgun across my back, with the custom quiver nestled alongside it. The bow mounted in a holster at my side. My belt pack contained extra ammo, and the other basic essentials, such as water, map and compass. Once, Storm would have lugged some of this gear around for me, but now I just adapt for the solo trek.

Leaving the chair by the fire, I locked the truck, pocketed the keys, and began the long, hot trek up the mountain path to the approximate location that HQ had given me for the disturbance...

* * *

One of the things I've noticed as I've gotten older, is that time is very subjective. Years seem to pass, without anything memorable, sliding into the back of your mind as a passing thought. Then, every now and again, something else pops up that burns itself into your memories.

School was a bit like the first. The years came and went, and the time just seemed to slip away. Suddenly, we were graduating, and I remember shaking my close friend's hands, and hugging others, only to realise many of them I'd likely never see again.

That's growing up, I guess. Things change, and life still goes on.

I found it interesting that, while Storm had never expressed any enthusiasm in my schooling life, when I chose to enter the Rangers Academy, it suddenly piqued his interest completely.

"I want to come along!" he growled for the tenth time, after I tried explaining, repeatedly, that he couldn't come.

"Mate, they don't have a pokemon day care there, dude."

"Yeah, well fuck that. I didn't ask for day care. I want to come to your classes"

Shit. He was being unusually insistent, and while I generally knew intuitively when I could change his mind on something, this one seemed different; impossible almost.

The weeks that followed were a torment for both of us. His constant and persistent hassling just frayed my temper, and the tension between us grew until I exploded at him, asking him if he knew exactly what the fuck he was asking of me!

Then he did something that took me completely by surprise, and cooled my anger completely.  
He recited the Rangers oath to me.

_With Arceus by my side, I will do my best to serve my fellow man,  
to live by the Rangers Code, and to make the code my daily rule.  
A Ranger is mentally, physically and spiritually alert.  
He is clean in body, mind and spirit.  
He does not lie, cheat or steal.  
He is brave in the face of danger, criticism or threats.  
He is faithful to himself, his colleagues and his friends.  
He obeys his leaders, and those in authority,  
And will never disregard the rights and beliefs of others.  
He will always strive to protect the weak and innocent,  
And bring to justice all those who deny their claim to it,  
I am a Ranger, in truth, honour and integrity,  
To the end of my days.  
_  
I sat on my bed, stunned, just staring at him as he towered over me. He had such a look of determination on his face that I'd never seen before, and his paws were clenched tightly by his sides.

Holy shit! He WAS serious about this!

When my thoughts had finally gathered themselves into something resembling coherence, I realised he'd taken my silence another way. Assuming I was furious at him, he bowed his back, looked very sheepish, and obviously was feeling a little foolish.

So, I did what needed doing.  
I stood up and have him a huge bear hug.

"OK, mate. No promises, mind. But I'll do my best."  
The look of surprise and pure happiness that broke on his face as he suddenly hugged me back made it all worthwhile.

So, I rang the school administration, and asked to speak to the class coordinator. I told him the situation. He put it in the too hard basket, and passed me onto the school administration. They looked at as if my head was on fire, and then handed me to the head honcho himself, Captain Sin Barklay, Ranger HQ's top brass. Not hearing back, I'd almost given it up as a lost cause, when a few days later, I was unceremoniously dragged into his office, where I sat, nervous and sweating, in front of his huge timber desk, and melted under his baleful glare.

"Surely you can't be serious!"

Oh shit. Muzzling the most obvious response, which would have probably ended my career before it started, I raised my head and looked directly at him.

"Yes Sir! Absolutely serious, Sir!"

He looked at me again, before reaching up to his face with a huge, grizzled palm, rubbing his forehead absently.

"So, what you're saying is that you want your pet pokemon to sit in on the entry exams to the Rangers. A position of honour, and integrity in an organisation that in the whole of its 100 year history has never, and I repeat, NEVER, had a non-human entrant in its ranks? Is this what you're asking me?"

By this stage, he had both hands resting heavily on the desk, fingers together and palms so firmly pressed onto the desk that the blood had stopped circulating. Leaning forward over them, his florid face glared down at me from what was, for me, a much too close inspection.

Fuck you, Storm! What the hell are you getting me into?  
However, I'd promised to go through with this, and go through with it I would...

"Yes, Sir! Yes, I understand exactly what I'm asking, and yes Sir, I think he should be given the opportunity to sit the exams!"

Captain Barklay looked at me for a long moment, before sitting back, reclining his chair thoughtfully.

"You really are serious, aren't you? Hmmm. I've heard a bit about this one. Can talk and write, I understand?"

He heard about him? That was wierd...

"Yes, Sir. He can, very well in fact"

He put his huge, meaty hands together on his desk again, and leaned forward, studying me keenly from behind them.

"You understand that I will make absolutely no allowances for his behaviour or attitude, just because of what he is, don't you? If he was to pass the exams and gain entry into this academy, he WILL be expected to meet the same high levels I demand from all the students here. In fact, given he's the first of his kind, the spotlight WILL be constantly, and often brutally, on him during his entire training. ANY deviations from the norm will be treated most likely harshly."

"Yes Sir. We both understand this, Sir"

He sat back, and rubbed his temple again, letting out a tired sigh.

"Shit, cadet. You're putting me in a situation here. If I agree to this, you also understand the shit WILL hit the fan, rather spectacularly, don't you? People WILL oppose my decision on this, and I'll be putting my own neck on the line if I let this happen. This is a seriously risky thing you're asking of me, cadet"

"Yes, Sir, We understand. He will do his best, Sir. I promise you that!"

He sighed again, before leaning forward solemnly.

"He'll need to do better than his best, cadet, if he expects to survive in this place. Same goes for you. This is the Rangers, not a bloody Pokemon kiddie camp. I will expect nothing from you both but your utmost effort here, and I MEAN the both of you. If you chose to continue with this, both your careers will be on the line. If he's out, you're out, understood? If this is too much for you, I'd suggest you both piss off now, and return to whatever hick town you sprang from, leaving the Rangers in peace. Understood?"

Was he actually agreeing to this?  
He wasn't serious, was he?  
What the hell...?

I straightened my back, and replied smartly.

"Yes Sir! You won't regret this, Sir!"

Turning to the window, he put his back to me in dismissal, before grumbling "I'd better not, cadet! I'd better not!"

"Now, get out!"  
I got out. Fast!

Shit. Life was about to become very interesting, and not necessarily in the funner sense of the word!

But at least there was one positive outcome of the whole situation.  
At least I hadn't called him "Shirley"...

Note: Thanks go to the Royal Rangers, for much of the Rangers oath above, and the Galactic Rocket Rangers for the rest ;)

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 6: The Academy.**


	6. Chapter 6: The Academy:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Academy.**

The trail wound its way into the foothills beneath the snow clad peaks, finally emerging past the sparse tree line into boulder strewn grasslands below the spring snow line. In winter, this area would be 20 feet under thick white powder. This late in the season, the grasses had made their comeback with a vengeance, and the entire area was lush with new flowers.  
I had to admit, even I found it pleasant.  
The temperature remained a balmy 20 degrees Celsius. Hot enough for me to regret wearing my heavy jacket, which I promptly removed and hung over a nearby branch. Taking a seat on a sun warmed boulder, I pulled out my water bottle for a deep drink, crouching to refill it at a small, icy cold rivulet nearby.  
Something was bothering me, however. A more thorough examination of the peaks failed to reveal any signs of an avalanche, as the snow field appeared intact as far as I could see. Grabbing my pocket binoculars, I rescanned the slopes, again finding nothing unusual.  
Guess we can chalk off "avalanche" from our list of possible candidates.  
I'd also noted with some suspicion the absence of anything resembling large pokemon on the entire trek up here. At the very least, I should have spotted some sign of their passing. Scat, a tree with rub marks or fur, tracks of any kind. Something! The place was a haven for the bigger species, but I'd seen hide nor hair (no pun intended) of them anywhere.  
Something was very, very wrong here.  
Even the bird life was strangely silent. The ongoing cacophony I experienced down at the lake site had mysteriously ceased as I approached the tree line. Apart from the occasional cheep from a pidgey, the place seemed void of wildlife.  
Not good, Scotty.  
Not good at all.

There were several possible explanations for this sort of thing occurring, some of which were perfectly natural.  
A volcanic event would do it. That could have explained both the noise and the lack of wildlife.  
However, the equally obvious lack of any seismic activity reported by the geological observatory on Mt Sumei pretty much precluded anything in that regard.

Another possibility was something big. Really big. A legendary, for example.  
The fact no one had spotted such a creature in years made it less likely, although not impossible. Legendaries didn't just sit on their tail bones and mope in the peaks somewhere. They caused problems. BIG problems. While the possibility was there that such an event may still surface, it seemed increasingly doubtful.

So, what had caused the silence?  
Shit, what the fuck was so overwhelmingly frightening that it caused the mass exodus of all wildlife from such a huge area of wilderness?  
I was starting to become nervous about finding that out.

* * *

Storm passed Ranger training with honours.  
Not that I was all that surprised, but it seems that I was the exception.  
Especially when it became newsworthy throughout the province.

He was actually a bit put out by all the media attention he received during his training. Not that he minded acting the exhibitionist which, of course, he was. More that he didn't see anything particularly different in his accomplishing something that no other pokemon had done before.  
After all, I had passed too. Why shouldn't he?

When his initial application was forwarded to Ranger HQ admin, the first hurdle was classifying his application.  
Height: 178cm  
Weight: 85kg  
Sex: Male

That was easy enough.  
Then there were the harder questions.  
Hair colour: Dark blue and cream  
Eye colour: Red

That's where things became confusing.

However, as he'd blitzed the entrance exams (turns out that he was actually secretly studying the manual for months while I was still at school, reading all the materials I had collected during my senoir years in preparation for studying at the Academy) and with the backing of Captain Barklay, he was sent through to recruit training with little fuss, and less warning.

The next issue was uniforms.  
Unsurprisingly, the standard issue Ranger fatigues didn't fit Storm very well.  
So they tried custom made.  
This was an adventure in itself.  
They didn't fit very well either.  
As I said to him after they slipped down and he tripped over them for the n'th time, they just didn't make fatigues for guys whose balls were near their ankles!  
Oh yeah. That went down like a sack full of armpits!

So a compromise was reached, with him being issued the standard Ranger scarf, woggle and a modified hat with ear holes. He wore a leather belt across one shoulder, bandito style, with his essential equipment hanging from it, and had a small nap sack for other gear on his back.

Truth be told, he looked like a total bad ass!  
Not that I'd ever tell him that, or his swollen head would no longer have fit his new hat.

Me, I was just happy enough to get gear that fit well.  
And that kept my balls securely where they were supposed to be.  
Off the ground.

A few other modifications challenged the quartermaster, too.

It's hard to shoot a rifle without thumbs, for example.  
So, they managed to modify the firing system of one weapon with a slip through handle, to allow him to grip it one handed, and changed the trigger guard to suit claws.  
Knives, he also had some issue with. So, again showing their initiative, they came up with a full guard for him to slip his paw through to keep a grip on it.

In fact, for all the Captains comments about not doing anything different for him, they spent an extraordinary amount of effort doing so.  
I think the quartermaster looked on it as a logistics challenge for her team and, being typical Ranger stock, would not let anything like an odd shaped trigger grip tarnish their supply record.

The teaching staff, too, seemed to take his presence in their stride.  
Ranger training is a complete bitch, both physically and mentally.  
They ran you till you were exhausted, chewed you out for being a sissy weaklings, then ran you some more.  
There were days when I reached my bunk, almost comatose, only to find Storm ready to head to the Rangers bar for a drink.

He seemed inexhaustible.

Whoever said pokemon couldn't hold their piss had never lost a drinking game to a typhlosion. He considered it a skill. I reckon the cheating bastard burned the alcohol off internally. He told me I was a sore loser, and then proceeded to beat me at pools. I had to be carried to my bunk by him unconscious.  
Life was good...

Ranger training followed the standard guidelines of any such military discipline.  
General drill, strategy, marksmanship, and combat training.  
Repeat "ad nauseum" until you can do it in your sleep.  
Then do it some more.  
While many found it odd such training was needed, Rangers were considered "jack of all trades". They were expected to be ready to handle anything thrown at them.  
Yes, we were taught standard bushman's skills; hunting, tracking and the like. However, the different disciplines taught during training were designed to complement each other, so that we could respond instantly, and appropriately, to any unusual situation we encountered.  
It was exhilarating, actually.  
We both thrived on it.

Occasionally, one news reporter or another would try and sneak an interview with Storm.  
After all, he was a novelty, and most in the general public who had heard of him still considered it a recruitment gimmick.  
However, his grades were exemplary, and his skills developed beyond expectation.  
He was becoming the epitome of the perfect Ranger, and his instructors had no delusions as to his value.  
As such, they were extraordinarily protective of his privacy during his training, which the more persistent and aggressive media folk discovered to their chagrin.

As far as his fellow cadets were concerned, after the initial novelty value wore off, they considered him one of them.  
He had many normal friends, both amongst the cadets and staff, and was just "one of the crew".  
Sure, a big, hairy, and often smouldering one of the crew, but this made no difference to them.  
I'd never seen him happier.

However, he was still, at heart, the same Storm he'd always been.  
He was my best buddy, and I was his.  
Life was awesome.

3 years we had in peace at the academy.  
And our graduation day was one of the best in our lives.  
The media were everywhere.  
The unthinkable had happened, and a pokemon had become a Ranger.  
Both of us received honours, and commendations, with a recommendation we be placed together for our 12 month journeyman stint.

After the ceremony, we were all dragged down to the Rangers bar, to escape the media circus. The place was packed, both with graduates, their family, and the trainers and staff. Even Captain Barklay was there, drowning pint after pint, and clapping us all on the back, his florid face beaming with pride.

Then everything went to shit.  
Really fast.

A group of strangers entered the bar, clearly out of place in their white lab coats and sporting their business-like demeanour. They began pressing their way through the crowd towards where we were standing and, as they passed, the revellers began to quieten. By the time they reached us, the bar was almost silent.

I turned to Storm, a question on my lips, only to have it die in surprise.  
I'd never seen him look like that. His ears were flat, his pupils were dilated, and his entire demeanour reeked of fear.  
He was terrified of these people.

What the hell?

The group stopped in front of us, and one individual took a long, and clearly dismissing look at Storm, before clearing his throat and loudly proclaiming to his group that "Yes, this is the one. We will need to take him now"

Now, subtlety has never been one of my strong points. I'm the first to admit this.  
In fact, my whole life has been spent trying to suppress my need to speak my mind, often physically.  
Ranger training had done a good job keeping my baser instincts in check, but when push came to shove, I shoved.

What Storm meant to me went beyond mere words.  
He was more than my best friend.  
He was more than a fellow Ranger.  
He was family.  
And no one...I mean NO ONE, fucks with my family!

The entire bar had fallen to a deathly silence. Every eye was fixed on these intruders, (and that's what they were...intruders) who had the gall to enter our domain and threaten one of our own.  
We were Rangers.  
If you fuck with one of us.  
You fuck with ALL of us!

I stepped in from of the cowering typhlosion, bringing my face within inches of the individual who had spoken.

"I don't know who you are. I don't care who you are. But what makes you think you're leaving this room with this Ranger?"

Perhaps ignorance comes with arrogance, but the individual involved clearly failed to take the hint. Others in his party were not so stupid, and began casting nervous glances at the Rangers pressing around them.

Drawing himself up, the leader of the group said "I am Professor Jameson, head of CERT. We've been tracking our property down for nearly a decade, until now without success. Imagine our surprise when one of our researchers saw him simply appear on the news, just as we'd thought he was gone for good! We have to say, we were all very happy at this excellent news! I see you're all celebrating here, so if it's alright with you, we'll just take the typhlosion and leave you to it!"  
He smiled at me coldly, turned to one of his colleagues while motioning several of his subordinates forward. One of them produced a collar and chain, and began to approach the pokemon.

The collective temperature in the room dropped below freezing, as angry murmuring began amongst those present who had heard the fool's preposterous statement.

I again blocked the group, who had attempted to push past me, and grasped the front of Jameson's collar, dragging him forward and repeated in a quiet voice "I'll ask you again, what makes you think we'll let you walk out of here in one piece if you touch him?"

A loud murmur of agreement from the crowd followed my comment. Jameson looked down at his shirt clenched tightly in my fist, realising things were not going as smoothly as he had planned. Stuttering his disbelief, and gesturing at the crowd pressing around them, he shouted his objections!

"You cannot deny us our legal rights! The pokemon is ours, by law, and we demand to take him with us!"

My free hand balled into a fist, ready to punch the arrogant prick's face down his neck, when I felt a large hand clamp firmly on my shoulder. Turning in anger, I stopped and relaxed somewhat when I realised it belonged to Captain Barklay.

"I think I'll take over from this point, Ranger Rivers. Thank you for your assistance, but I believe it is my place to explain to the good Professor exactly who owns whom here"

Staring into his face, I was ready to object, when he gave me a slow, deliberate wink, before turning back to the spluttering Professor.  
I turned my back on the scene, and went to comfort the still fearful Storm, while Barklay addressed Jameson.

"I do believe there is some confusion here, sir. You see, when a person enters the Rangers, they effectively become the property of the Rangers. It is a life commitment. So, whether the "property" in question once belonged to you or not, as a Ranger, he now belongs to us. I suggest you check with the Johto governing council as to the extent of our constitution, if you wish to clarify this further. I believe they can inform you of your rights, or lack of, in this situation. Perhaps if you had presented your case earlier, prior to the graduation concluding, you may have had a claim against him. However, as he, and the rest of his class, graduated half an hour ago, I believe you will find you are mistaken"

He then leaned forward menacingly.

"I also fear you remain in ignorance of the consequences of threatening a Johto Ranger in this manner. Again, I believe our jurisdiction extends to taking immediate, and appropriate, action against any individual doing so. While I may regret having to discipline those individuals involved, I believe I may have difficulty expressing sympathy over the fate of anyone foolish enough to threaten a Ranger, especially when the Ranger in question is surrounded by his friends and colleagues. Indeed, such a fate could be extremely unpleasant, if you get my meaning. Am I making myself clear, Professor?"

Jameson took a step back towards his group, his face turning white during the speech, "You cannot do this! We have rights!"

The Captain replied quietly. "I just did. No, you don't. I suggest it is time for you to leave now!"

The crowd parted for thme, clearing a path to the door in what obviously, for the group, not optional. Dragged out by his fellows, Jameson continuing to shout his objections, even as the bar's doors closed behind them.

The room was silent a moment longer, when suddenly someone let out a whoop of victory, and everyone erupted in cheers!  
Storm, realising he was finally free from the horrors in his part, rose to his feet shakily, helped by the hands of his friends who pummelled his shoulders and fluffed his head fur in support.  
It only took him a moment to reach the same conclusion the scientists had.  
He was a Ranger.  
Now and forever.  
That's all that mattered.

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 7: Nightmares.**

Bottom of Form


	7. Chapter 7: Nightmares:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Nightmares.**

I started my search for the cause of the disturbance heading north, following the edge of the forest. The route was tough, weaving past boulders and screed, and crossing both icy cold streams and loose gravel slips that threatened to slide out from under me with every step.  
As the morning progressed towards noon, the sun disappeared, bringing the threat of rain. Soon enough, the heavens opened, and I was more than happy to have with me my heavy jacket, that had felt so stifling earlier in the day.  
With the rain came a brisk wind that began to make the day significantly more unpleasant. Hunching my shoulders within my hood, with my arms hugging my sides to keep them warm, I kept up my momentum, eating up the miles while the cold ate into my soul.  
Typical mountain weather. Beautiful one moment, miserable the next.

The trail I was following, if you could justify calling it that, continued to meander around the upper peaks, and I began to wonder if I'd even discover anything unusual in the area.

That was until I came across the carcass of the charizard.

It was the smell that first alerted me. The overwhelming reek of carrion stench. I located the source behind a rocky outcrop, where it had clearly crashed heavily before sliding into an untidy heap on the rocks below.  
At first, I had to assume the death was natural, as nothing obvious as to the cause of death was evident, although I continued to examine the remains looking for anything suspicious. Finally, my search was rewarded. Behind the right ear, caked in gore, was an entry hole for a large calibre rifle round. Across the neck and chest, and especially around the muzzle area, were lacerations consistent with rope or wire burn. Wire, I reasoned, given the smaller diameter of the slices, and the depth they had penetrated.  
The accuracy of the rifle shot suggested the creature had been shot at reasonably close range, likely within 15-20 meters. The creature had also been airborne when shot, given the impact area and shattered wings.  
But where was the wire? The creature had been bound before death, and the area it lay in did not show the extent of blood pooling you'd see if it had bled out here. There was also no way it could have removed the wire itself, as the area of its flesh covered with injury was extensive.  
So, it had been tied up with wire, and muzzled, had somehow managed to escape, and been shot while in the air from close range.  
One thing became very clear.  
Someone had really fucked up this charizard in a big way and, even more worrying, I'd heard of something uncomfortably similar to this before...

* * *

I woke in our room the next morning with the hangover from hell, and a warm, furry arm draped across my chest. I could feel Storms slow breathing with the rising and falling of his chest where he rested against my back, warm and comforting.  
I hadn't remembered him climbing into the bed with me, not that it troubled me at all. We'd been friends too long to be concerned about things like that.  
Then again, I hadn't remembered climbing into the bed myself.  
While I'm sure many would have frowned upon it, we'd never troubled ourselves with their opinion and, while his presence in my bed became less frequent as we got older, occasionally I woke up with the big bed warmer snuggled against me, particularly if he'd suffered troubling dreams during the night.  
Certainly, he beat any electric blanket I'd ever used hands down.

Urk. What a night! Rangers sure know how throw a wild party and, after what had happened and how it ended, it couldn't have gotten any wilder.

Turning over carefully, I searched Storm's face, seeing he was unlikely to be waking up any time soon. I gently removed the arm over me, placing it beside him, and he muttered something incomprehensible before turning over onto his other side, allowing me to escape the sheets. After getting up, I stretched, working the kinks out of my back and neck, then pulled the linen back over him to keep him warm Reaching across the desk at the foot of my bed, I snagged the boil switch on the coffee pot, and set about brewing up some breakfast.  
Even then, I was a caffeine addict.

After pouring a cup, the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the small room obviously overcame Storm's sleeping senses, as he woke with a snort, pushing the sheets back while sitting up against the bed head. Rubbing his eyes, which were even redder than usual, he reached for my half empty cup which I handed over, chuckling, before pouring myself another.  
I wasn't the only one needing a quick fix that morning, it seemed.

I sat back down on the foot of the bed, and let him take a few sips, before he let out a sigh and simply sat there, breathing in the aroma, and avoiding my questioning gaze.

"So, do you want to tell me about it?" I asked him.

He looked at me for a few seconds, before looking away, taking another swig from the cup and replying "Not really. But you won't let up on it if I don't, will you? Not after yesterday"  
He knew me better than I knew myself.  
He was right, of course. I wouldn't have.

He let out another deep sigh, and rested his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling before speaking.

"When I was very young, and still a cyndaquil, my parents and I were living on the banks of Lake Wahoe, near the southern border. There were cliffs near the water, and they had melted a cavern into the rock big enough for us all to live in."

"It was great there," he reminisced. "There was heaps of food, especially lum berries which I loved the best of all"

He sighed again, and looked into his cooling coffee, idly rotating the cup in his paws.  
"My parents were both typhlosions", he said, "which I know is a little unusual. I don't remember much about them now, but I remember my dad was really big, and mum always hugged me a lot. Other than that, I don't remember them much"

He rubbed his face again, before continuing.

"The strangers came to the lake just after the first winters snow had begun to fall. I realise now they used the tracks my parents had made when gathering food to follow them back to the den."

His voice became rough, as he grasped the cup in a grip that, for a moment, looked like it might shatter it.

"They killed my father first. He'd heard them coming, and had charged out to challenge them. When he left the den, they shot him, almost point blank, in the chest and the head. He never stood a chance. My mother tried protecting me, hiding me behind her, but she couldn't shield both of us from them. Next I knew, she had slumped against me, and while I tried to get her to run away with me, even though her eyes were open, she wouldn't move"

He put the cup on the dresser, and wiped his nose with his arm, letting out a choking sniff in the process.

"They wanted me, of course. They needed young ones, especially unevolved ones, for the tests they ran. One of them had crawled into the den, with a big brown thing in his hand. At the time, I had no idea what a bag was, but it was stuffed over my head, before they dragged me out of the den. I screamed and screamed, and they hit me, over and over, until I didn't scream anymore"

"I don't remember being taken to the facility, but when I woke, I was in a big metal cage, and Jameson was there, examining me through the bars. He was always there, telling the others what to do, and how to hurt me. I hated him so much!"

I reached out and gripped his arm, giving it a squeeze while he collected himself before continuing.

"They did things to me there. Things that hurt me. I was put on a table, with my arms and legs strapped down, and they stuck things in me; in my head and chest. Sometimes in my eyes and down my throat. Shit, it hurt so much. They fed me things too. Some things they gave me made me smarter. I began, slowly, to start to understand what they were saying. Soon, they were forcing me to try the words myself. If I didn't get it right, they hurt me some more, shocking me with hand held devices they carried with them. After a time, I was taking fluently, and was able to hold long conversations with them. They seemed to like that, and when they liked something, the hurting stopped for a while. That made me talk a lot more, so they began teaching me to read, giving me primers at first, and then more advanced books to read. I didn't mind that either. It was better than the alternative"

He looked at me again, eyes redder than before.

"Something else they gave me stopped my flame, too. After a while, it just didn't work anymore. They got pretty excited about this as well, and put me through even more tests, taking blood and sticking needles in my heat patches. They didn't care that it hurt; even when I screamed they kept going. What I wanted just didn't matter. I was just an animal to them"

He absently straightened the sheets covering his waist, smoothing the folds with his paws.

"They had a lot of other pokemon there, too. All sorts, and all young. They hurt them a lot too, and many of them just died. When this happened, they brought in a big blue plastic bin on wheels, and just dumped them in it. No one cared, and no one looked. If you didn't look, it wasn't happening. If you looked, you might be next".

"I was there a long, long time. I don't know how long, but one day during their tests, the pain was too much, and I evolved there and then on the bench. They hated that. It turns out they were trying to perfect a method for controlling pokemon evolution, and I had just invalidated their research."

He clenched the sheets in anger.

"Things got bad then. Really bad. They started beating me, as well as stopped feeding me. When they didn't think I could hear, they began talking about "Losing their research grants" and "Closing the facility". I began getting sick, and some of my cuts and bruises wouldn't heal, which just seemed to make them angrier"

"Then they brought in a really, really big pokemon. A charizard. They chained it up at the back of the facility they kept us in, with a large muzzle to stop it breathing fire. I overheard them saying they were proceeding to "the next phase", involving dissection of the charizard, and that the first phase subjects were to be terminated."

"I knew what that meant. I had heard them use it each time one of us was taken away in the blue bin. They were going to kill us"

"I had worked out how the locks on the cages worked long before and, that night when the attendant brought us fresh water, I slipped his key card from his belt clip when he wasn't looking, Since you only needed the card to get into our area, he didn't notice it was missing. Later that night, I used the card to open the cage door, and crept over to the charizard, who had been kept bound the entire day. I told him what they were planning, and he indicated his willingness to help us escape with a violent nod of his head. I tried coaxing the others, but they wouldn't respond. It's like they were already dead inside"

He looked up at me, with a glint of anger in his eyes.

"We killed 4 of them on the way out. The charizard cremated 3 with his heat blast, and I slashed the throat of one of them with my claws. He was the one who had beaten me after the last tests, and when he saw us trying to escape, he tried stabbing me with a knife he pulled from his pocket. He missed, mostly. That's how I got the ear". He gingerly rubbed the place where the chunk was missing from his earlobe.

"When he stopped moving, and we managed to make it outside to the fenced compound, someone must have sounded an alarm, because all hell broke loose then. The sirens started, and someone began shining a spot light around, with the beam catching the charizard in full. I remember many shots being fired, and being grabbed in his claws when he took off, and his roar as he lurched violently in the air as the bullets tore into him."

He looked at his paws again, and sighed. "No, I'll never forget that. Ever".

Looking at me again, he paused for a minute, before continuing. "As we cleared the wall, the spotlight followed us as we passed the main tower, and I saw the name of the laboratory stencilled in huge letters on the wall. CERT. Combined Eradication and Research Team."

He dropped his head into his paws, and was obviously having trouble holding back his tears.

"We made it a long way further than I thought we would, before the charizard couldn't fly anymore. I heard his struggling breath wheezing through some of the holes in his chest, which had clearly penetrated a lung, and I was soon covered in the hot, dark blood pouring from his wounds. When he realised he couldn't go any further, he must have tried to land, but didn't make it. We crashed into the forest not that far from where you found me that day, the branches in the trees ripping at us as we fell to the ground. The landing knocked me unconscious, and it was hours before I came to, crawling over to the charizard where he lay shattered on the ground nearby. He was dead, though. His final act had been to try and protect me as we fell"

"I never even knew his name. He saved me, and I never knew his name"

He hiccupped softly, with tears streaming down his face. I reached over and threw my arms around him, cradling him to me while he cried into my shoulder.

Shit. I had thought it was bad, but not like this.

When his sobs subsided, and he calmed down a bit, he gave me another hug, and sat back before sniffing a few times, continuing his story.

"Then you found me. I was so scared. You were there, standing over me, and I couldn't think to do anything but run. But I hurt too much, and I passed out, and when I came to, you were carrying me so gently. It still hurt, but I knew, somehow, you were only helping me"

He looked at me in a way I'd never seen before. My throat was so tight, I couldn't ask why.

"Thanks to you, my life has been perfect. I'm so happy now, and I thought I was going to live like this forever."  
"Then THEY showed up today, and I wanted to die again."

I gave him another quick hug, and he relaxed against me.

I breathed into his fur, before leaning back and catching his eyes with mine.

"Mate, I give you my word, nothing bad will ever happen to you again. I promise you that."

We held each other a long time after that. I think we both needed it.

If I only knew then that some promises could never be kept, thinks may have turned out differently...

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 8: Beasts.**


	8. Chapter 8: Beasts:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Beasts.**

Leaving the corpse behind, I resumed my trek along the tree line, looking for further unusual signs that could give me a lead on what was happening here. Some thing was very wrong, and I needed to get to the bottom of it as quickly as possible. One thought kept plaguing me. Was it CERT? Had they returned to in the area, performing more illicit research? For a moment, I seriously considered returning back to my office and contacting HQ for further assistance. However, I decided that without any hard evidence backing my suspicions, there was really no way I could justify requesting any wider action by the Rangers.  
The nagging feeling wouldn't go away, though, and I kept a careful eye out for anything suspicious.  
Noon passed, and the afternoon crept by. By 4pm, with the sun behind the mountains, twilight began to descend, and I began thinking seriously of attempting to return to my base, even though I was unlikely have any chance of making it before full night fell. I'm not sure what prevented me from doing so. Perhaps it was just my stubborn streak, or a refusal to give in without an answer, but I continued on, circling the base of the mountains in the half light.

Then the sharp crack of a rifle, followed by a screeching bellow of pain, shattered the eerie silence.  
I immediately dropped to the ground, backing hurriedly against a nearby granite outcropping, while reaching frantically for my shotgun. Pulling it from its shoulder case, I flipped off the safety, and cautiously nosed my way around the protective rocks, keeping the shotgun muzzle ahead of me.

Shit! So much for Ranger Training! I hadn't seen or heard a thing!

Seeing past all the rocky rubble was difficult, but I could just make out something big thrashing on the ground around 50 meters away. Two figures approached it cautiously, both holding rifles, and one with a drawn hunting knife. Before I could react, the figure bent over the struggling creature, slitting its throat. It took a few minutes for it to die, and the bubbling gasps from it tore at me.

Fuck this.

I reached for my bow, quietly pulling it from its holster, and removing two arrows from my shoulder quiver. Kneeling behind the boulder, I placed one in the ground, point first, and sighted at the first of the poachers along the second. Drawing back the string till it was touching my lips, I released the first arrow, even while reaching for the second. I heard the "thunk" and a grunt of pain from the first poacher, as I released the second arrow at his partner. Another direct hit. Within a few seconds, they had both dropped to the ground, thrashing and screaming. Taking no chances, I approached cautiously, shotgun ready and with an ear out for any other poachers that might be nearby, but I needn't have bothered. By the time I reached them they were both dead.

Many would consider my actions harsh. However, they need to be reminded of two things. Firstly, since the Pokemon Protection Treaty of '72 was passed, needless and wanton taking of a life in this manner had only one consequence. It was a Rangers job to enforce this, as necessary.

Secondly, prior experience showed there was no use for mercy. It WAS an "Us or them" scenario. Too many good Rangers had died before the treaty, because they were forced to compromise on their safety for the sake of those who cared nothing for it in return, and refused to play by the rules.

Besides, they were poachers. Scum sucking filth.  
As I said, I hate poachers.

Checking for vitals confirmed my original thought. My first arrow had shot one poacher through the chest, puncturing through one lung and continuing to sever his spine. The second shaft had taken the man through the side, skewering his heart, and killing him instantly. I took no pleasure in the accuracy of my shots. There was a job needing doing, and I had done it.

I left the bodies, and went to examine the dead pokemon. It was a young tauros. Again, it had received a clean shot through the chest, disabling the creature before it could escape the men. Its throat was slashed almost to the point of severing its neck, with only the spine and lateral ligaments holding the lolling head in place. Blood was everywhere. Fuck, nothing subtle about this death. Otherwise, it had appeared healthy and, after examining it, female. It was young, probably just entering maturity. Death of a productive female of this age was a devastating blow to an endangered species already pushing hard towards extinction, and I felt a little better as to the fate of the two scumbags lying in their own filth nearby. No loss at all.

Speaking of filth, I returned to their corpses, flipping the first over onto its back, and examining it more carefully. The gear he wore was of excellent quality. Surprisingly so. Poachers rarely were equipped to this level. Normally, they were a houndoom's breakfast of salvaged, poor quality gear, thrown together as cheaply as possible. This was no normal poacher's equipment. It must have cost a fortune.

I checked the second body, finding a similar level of outfitting. Not normal.

Pulling some rubber disposable gloves from my pack, I gingerly but thoroughly began searching both bodies, looking for anything that might identify the two, avoiding contacting the blood stained garments as much as I could. The failing light made this difficult, but I knew that leaving them here overnight, where wild animals could disturb the bodies, might prevent any chance of finding out why they were out there, and who they were working for.  
Normally, little real usable evidence was found on such people, as in many cases, no identity for the corpses were discovered. In most situations, the poachers, and consequently their employers, did not want to be identified. I had nearly stripped the second body to its underwear before I struck pay dirt, pulling out a sealed package of documents, in a water tight pouch, located underneath his inner shirt lining.  
Popping the torch into my mouth to free up my hands, I opened the documents carefully with my gloved hands, trying to disturb them as little as possible.  
Little personal identification was present, mainly receipts for purchase of gear, which confirmed my prior suspicions that it was top notch, and newly purchased. In fact, the final balance was staggering, making the cost of my own equipment pale by comparison. All the goods had been charged using credit; a fact that gave a great deal of personal satisfaction. Such records were traceable, and the Rangers investigators were excellent in tracking all leads, both physical and electronic.

I began returning the documents back into their pouch, when a small piece of paper that had previously slipped my attention fell from the pile, falling to the ground. Bending over to pick it up, my questing fingers brought it into the torch light.

It was a business card I held.  
A Sinnotech business card.  
My fingers closed around it, crushing it in my palm, as I contemplated what it all meant, and what I had to do from here.

* * *

After the fiasco that had followed Storms escape from the CERT facility, the government funding for their research began to evaporate. Leaked documents and rumours of their methods began to surface, bringing into disrepute those in power who had supported them. Distancing themselves from the resultant media circus, those members of the government who had any involvement quickly divested themselves of any interest in the facility, as demands for action against the researchers became highly vocal.

If it hadn't been for the actions of one large private corporation, the entire project may have folded completely.  
However, that was not meant to be. Sinnotech, one of the largest privately owned companies on the continent, purchased their research and development, which promptly vanished from the public arena.  
As had CERT's head scientist, Dr Jameson.

With the majority of CERT researchers disbanded, and the specific details now suppressed in private company records, the entire situation quickly faded from public memory, soon becoming lost in media archives.  
For all except Storm, that is.  
He never forgot, and never forgave.

When Jameson had appeared at the graduation so many years later, it had been his first public appearance since his mysterious disappearance into Sinnotech. A lot of mystery surrounded the company. While posing as a legitimate business concern, many had doubts as to its actual motives. Some even felt it a front for illicit Team Chaos activities, although no one had ever managed to confirm a definite link between the crime gang and the company itself. While most of their dealings appeared above board, some bordered on the disreputable, although any individual investigating such matters often met with unforseen circumstances.

However, with Jameson's mysterious disappearance into the organisation, the matter died down, and soon public interest turned elsewhere.

But he was never forgotten. The Rangers, in particular, were looking for his head. Every rumour, every whisper, was investigated in detail. Over time, when nothing surfaced, even they began to give it up as a lost cause.

Until now, that was.

Here was the flaming gun, clenched tightly in my hands.  
A small piece of cardboard might finally put the issue to rest.  
We had Jameson, and his bosses at Sinnotech, this time...surely!

Our first assignment as "Team Storm", as some comedian at HQ started calling us (and which unfortunately took off amongst our colleagues, much to Storm's disgust), was with an elite band of Rangers known internally as the Environmental Response Team, or the "Eco Police" to outsiders.  
It was their job to investigate possible links between the corporate world, and damage and abuse of the environment and its inhabitants.  
Storm and I fit in well, there. It was an honoured position, and we both felt extremely lucky that we were chosen to be part of their team.

Much of our work was educational, involving public awareness campaigns to promote environmental protection.  
However, underneath the green facade, was the real reason the Eco Police existed.  
Fucking up the corporate bad guys.  
The government funded us as a public duty, promised when their predecessors were elected, and following even earlier scandals, the EP became so good at their work however, they soon grew past a simple environmental department, and began tackling serious corporate criminals. While the government and their backers often hated us privately, it became political suicide to confront us directly. The public loved us, and anyone who was against us was clearly "dirty".

We did a lot of good in our time in the EP. From breaking up smuggling rings, to crashing the black market in animal products, we handled the lot of them.  
But one corporation always eluded us.  
Sinnotech.

We knew they were dirty. Fuck, everything they touched stank like sewerage.  
But they were like teflon toilet paper. The shit never stuck to them.  
For several years, the EQ, and the Rangers in general, sought for that one breakthrough that might expose them for who they were, and bring them to justice.  
Success eluded them.

Then, finally, we had it. They had slipped up, and we were onto it!  
We thought we'd nailed them!  
How wrong we were.

An anonymous tip from an informant we had thought was reliable, told of an isolated warehouse on the outskirts of town, being used as a storage facility for toxic chemicals that were due to be dumped in the forests to the far north of the city. All we had to do was catch them at it, and bring the whole lot of them down.

How easy it sounded.

The EP staked out the warehouse for days, documenting the coming and going of everyone involved, and building up our evidence to justify a strike.

Eventually, we had it.  
We were ready to move.

Because of his speed and agility, Storm was often picked as a part of first strike and recon. As his partner, I was "fortunate" enough to accompany him on most missions.

This was not one of those times. I was needed to keep a guiding eye on a group of rookies that had just graduated from Ranger Academy. We had been given a post directly behind some nearby offices, and told to keep a lookout for trouble from the rear.

The strike group approached the main doors to the warehouse, search warrant in hand. The workers they encountered were even cooperative, inviting them into the depths of the building to speak with their supervisors.  
Ducking for a look, I saw Storm giving the typhlosion "thumbs up", two claws touching in an OK sign, before losing sight of him through the doorway.  
It looked so easy. Everything was going according to plan, and I returned back to my charges, spending several minutes discussing our current strategy with them.

Then the shit hit the fan.

Shots were fired, and we heard screams and yells from inside the building.

Before the backup team could scramble, a massive concussion threw us to the ground. Flying debris slammed its way through the EP personnel, dropping some of the Rangers with horrific injuries. The wind tore at our faces, and shards of glass shredded exposed flesh.  
Protected as we were by the adjoining building, while my team and I were knocked to the dirt, we sustained no serious injuries, and simply waited with our hands covering our faces until the whirlwind subsided. With my ears still ringing, I peered around the corner towards the warehouse, where a picture of hell awaited me.

Amongst the carnage of twisted metal and flaming debris, the shattered remains of the warehouse sat crumbling into oblivion.

I got up and ran towards the building, ignoring the radiant heat from the burning wreckage that began scalding my exposed skin. Storm was in there! I had to get him out!

Rough hands suddenly pulled at me, preventing me diving into the devastation after him. While part of me realised how futile my actions were, I couldn't seem to gather enough coherent thought together enough to stop. Instead, I resisted them, screaming Storm's name and struggling against the grasping arms frantically, until someone punched me hard in the face, causing me to black out.

When next I regained consciousness, I was lying under white sheets, in a Ranger hospital, aching and sore all over.  
My hands and legs were heavily bandaged, and I had a dressing across one eye.  
I felt like shit.

For a few moments, I struggled with the memory of where I was, and how I had gotten there.  
Then I started screaming, hysterically thrashing at the restraints on my wrist, and tearing at the IV tubes stuck in me.  
Screaming until they held me down and I was heavily sedated, again losing consciousness.

But as my sight dimmed, with the anxious faces of the nursing staff above me, one final thought tore at me.

I was alone.  
Storm was gone, and I was alone.

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 9: Judgement Day.**


	9. Chapter 9: Judgement Day:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Judgement Day.**

I spent the rest of the night just inside the tree line, in a small, protected clearing I had located a few hundred meters from where the poachers lay. I'd considered trying to retrace my route back to the waterfall camp site immediately but, in the dark, it was clearly going to be impossible, not to mention dangerous. Sleeping so close to the bodies didn't concern me overly, although I was somewhat wary of being surprised by other individuals looking to rejoin their "friends", who had now gone missing so suddenly. No one sought them out that evening. Given lighting a camp fire for warmth was inadvisable, it was also cold, damp and miserable, but the alternatives could have been much worse.

There were two dead humans in the area. I didn't particularly want to make it three, especially if it was my head contributing to the count.

I had searched the area further before retreating to my makeshift camp, but did not find any further equipment belonging to the two poachers. Either they had come out expecting to return to their vehicles, wherever they were, at a later stage, or had a camp themselves beyond my detection. So I wrapped my jacket as snugly around myself as I could, wrapped myself in a thermal blanket (I never left home without one anymore) and waited out the night. Exhausted as I felt, sleep eventually overtook me, and it was only the morning sun streaming through the branches of the trees overhead that finally woke me up the next day.

Getting up was another matter. It felt as though every muscle in my body was rejecting the idea. The adrenalin rush of the previous day, coupled with the long hike and cold night, locked everything up nice and tight. With reluctance, I forced my body into submission, climbing gingerly to my feet, and stretching my limbs to remove some of the stiffness, before gathering my gear in readiness for the long trek back.

After a few minutes relieving myself in the bushes nearby, I cautiously returned to the tree line, scanning the area for any signs of life, before making my way back towards the poachers cold corpses. Nothing had changed there; just 2 dead poachers, and one dead pokemon. Taking one more opportunity to check over the area, again finding nothing further, I began retracing my previous path to my vehicle.

It was late in the day before I made it back home, ducking into the cottage to wash up briefly, before heading to the office to report my findings. It took a while to get through; the radio had been playing up for months now, and while I had received promises to repair it, I'd never been overly concerned until now. In recent months, being out of contact so often was practically soothing. However, it took even longer to discuss the relevant details with HQ staff, and I spent several hours talking to different personnel at HQ, going over and over the relevant information, and forwarding copies of all the documents by fax to them for assessment. Any Ranger action involving the death of a person or pokemon, let alone three, was bound to be tied up in red tape. I knew something was up when, after finally being forwarded to the Sub Captains office, I was put on hold and asked to wait momentarily. Next I knew, I was put through directly to Captain Barklay.

"I was advised of the situation you encountered. In your assessment, Is there a direct link to Sinnotech?", he asked without preamble, never one for mincing his words.

"I believe so, Sir. If the documents can be traced back to them. I really don't know" I replied.

He pondered for a moment, before making a decision. "I have Intel working on them as we're speaking. If we have a chance to get them, it needs to be now. I want you here yesterday, Ranger. Move your ass at first light, and we might have a chance of finally catching these bastards out, once and for all, before they realise they might be compromised, and mask their trail"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good!" he acknowledged, before pausing again. In a slightly softer tone, he said "I know what you've been through, Scott. We've all been worried about you. But it's something you had to deal with, yourself, before you could see any closure. If there is a chance this might work, I'm giving you the opportunity to be in on it, understand? Your choice, but the offer is there if you want it."

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, before replying in a slightly husky voice "I will be there, Sir. Nothing could keep me from that"

He coughed again, sounding slightly embarrassed "Excellent. See you by 1300 tomorrow", before hanging up.

It was a meeting not even death could have kept me from attending.

The trip to Ranger HQ was long, but uneventful. I'd left at first light, negotiating the long trek to the city in the old truck, which looked quite out of place amongst the urban sprawl once we reached civilisation. By 1230, I had made it to the Academy, where I pulled up into the visitor's parking lot, and thought to make my way to grab some lunch at the cafeteria before the meeting commenced.

Before I'd taken a dozen paces, I felt my arm grabbed from behind. "No time for that, Ranger" a curt voice said, "We need that briefing immediately!"

Turning to the person grasping my arm, I stared into the face of Sergeant Donaldson, Captain Barklay's 2IC.

"Is the intel that good?" I asked hopefully, looking him in the eyes.

He smiled broadly, showing more teeth than an ornery growlithe. His answer almost purred in satisfaction. "Oh yes! You'll see", he grinned, before leading me through the maze of buildings to the Intel offices.

The conference meeting Captain Barklay called was the largest organised in Ranger history. Apart from myself, over fifty of the top Ranger members had been called in overnight to discuss the matter. It turned out the documents I had found not only contained information linking the pokemon death to Sinnotech bank accounts, but identified the "poachers" as direct employees of the company, and known confederates of Dr Jameson!

With one pouch of evidence, we had the proverbial goose's golden egg dropped in our laps, and Barklay intended wasting no time procrastinating on it.

Within hours of my forwarding the information to HQ, the Intel team had tracked down each account, each transaction, and the Sinnotech individuals associated with it, and had married it all up to masses of earlier intel they had accumulated over the years, from other sources and investigations. What at first appeared to be simply a large mass of independent data, began to show a coherent web of criminal activity. Some of the documents, at first innocuous seeming to my untrained eye, turned out to be loaded with incriminating evidence against the company, and had even included access passwords casually jotted down at the tops of the papers. Intel was ecstatic, as with these they had instant access into Sinnotech computer networks. When several hours later, the information began to suddenly "disappear" from their systems, it was far, far too late. The damage had been done, and the Rangers had enough evidence to bury the lot of them.

Several hours were spent at the meeting examining and re-examining various scenarios aimed at digging the culprits out of their lair. Some argued that an indirect approach, using the judicial system, would have the greatest chance of success. Personally, I was all for the direct "shoot first, shoot lots, ask later" option. With the debate raging back and forward, with a bang, Captain Barklay slammed his hand on the podium, and made the choice for us.

"Rangers, these individuals have avoided justice for over a decade. Their casual disregard for the rights of others, coupled with their blatant attempts to circumvent all our laws, has been a slap in the face for our inadequate legal system, not to mention the Rangers in general."

He gripped the podium with both hands, leaning forward to stare at us intently.

"The actions of these scumbags resulted in the death of seven of our best Rangers that night, 12 months ago. Since then, we've been on the back foot trying to discover an opening in their organisation, and at each and every turn, they've thwarted our actions. Intel has serious suspicions that the explosion that killed so many of us last year was a deliberate, malicious attempt to discredit the Rangers, and disrupt our investigations. While a terrible tragedy for us, I'm glad to say, they failed in this, and seriously misjudged our determination"

"This time, we're ready for them. Thanks to the new information that came to light yesterday, we now have the means to take the fight to THEM!"

With this, he thrust his arm into the air in a victorious salute, and the Rangers present drowned out any further response with a combined, almighty cheer of their own!

I'd like to say that things proceeded at a blistering pace from that moment onwards, but that'd be subjective. Rangers, in particular, prefer their planning to be meticulous. Unlike the fiasco 12 months earlier, this time things were going to go OUR way, and no one wanted any further lives lost in the process, especially in a repeat of last year's fiasco.

Still, in less than 12 hours, the basics had been organised. A communications blackout at HQ from the moment the Rangers conference commenced had ensured no hint of our preparations had escaped the facility, and no punches had been pulled in getting everything set up in the time frame needed.

Over forty Rangers were to be involved, with backup staff at the ready. This time, we were both heavily armed, and more heavily armoured, with serious body protection and equipment mandatory. Unlike last time, there would be no contact with authorities until after the raid commenced, and the building was secure. Especially given the suspicion that it had been a government informant leeching the information to Sinnotech, resulting in the lethal surprise they had for us.

Even our transport to the scene was unique.  
We used school buses.

Big, yellow, and ludicrously ordinary school buses.

With the raid planned for 7.30am, and it being a week day during the school year, it was thought to be the perfect method to blend into the background, and keep any chance of our activities being noticed to a minimum.

Although the video that later made the rounds, showing forty heavily equipped Rangers climbing into school buses, was always a source of vast amusement for all.

The raid had been planned meticulously. We were ready; much more so than twelve months earlier.

This time, nothing was to left to chance.  
Nothing was supposed to go wrong.

* * *

After the explosion, I was released from the Ranger hospital after 2 weeks recuperation, still battered and sore, but pronounced physically recovered. Emotionally, however, I was a mess.

They initially wanted to return me to EP, but I wanted nothing of that.  
I didn't particularly want much of anything, to be honest.

Instead, they placed me in graduate initiation at the Academy. Nominally to give me time to settle, but more to clandestinely monitor my mental state. While I tried, my heart just wasn't in it. My "give a fuck factor" had hit zero two weeks earlier, and nothing seemed to have much point anymore. After receiving several rebukes for my overly critical attitude towards the new recruits, I went again to personnel, asking for an isolated posting, away from the main HQ, where I could clear my head in private. The spot where we'd done our wilderness training in the mountains was currently unattended by a Ranger, since the retirement of it's former occupant, and seemed perfect for my needs

At first, they were reluctant, thinking I was a risk for harming myself.  
At the time, they were probably justified in that.

However, my ongoing persistence eventually achieved something, as I was brought before Captain Barklay for "evaluation"

He took one look at me, sitting straight in my chair, and gave a grunt.  
"You're not thinking of doing something stupid, are you, Ranger?" he asked roughly.

"Sir?" I replied.

"I think you know what I mean, Scott"

Yes, I did know exactly what he meant. However, regardless of the "other" alternatives, I was a Ranger, and I still had a job to do.

"Yes Sir, I know what you mean. No, that isn't my style, Sir"

He gave another grunt, and returned to scanning my file on his desk, and sighing, eyeing me grimly.

"OK, Ranger, you have your wish. You have twelve months in the mountains, at the journeyman post you had during your training."

He put his hands on the desk before him, forming an apex with his fingers, before staring at me over them.

De ja vu; just like at our first interview.

"Don't disappoint me, Ranger. In twelve months, I expect you back here, doing your real job. Understood?"

I understood, absolutely. So I left without questioning it further.

* * *

**Continued in Chapter 10: The end of things.**


	10. Chapter 10: The end of things:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 10: The end of things.**

The buses pulled up a half block from Sinnotech main headquarters, right on schedule, at 7.15am. Within a minute, the full complement of troops had disembarked and were standing in formation, awaiting their deployment. A group of twenty were to storm the front offices; ten to gain entry and secure the area, and the rest to begin securing the evidence we needed from their databases and hard copy, before it could be tampered with or destroyed. Another group of fifteen were to enter via the rear of the office block, with the intention of securing key targets amongst the company directors, and senior staff and management.

I was with the final group of five, the smallest of the three, whose job was to penetrate the lower research facilities, secure the laboratories and neutralising key personnel. It was felt that we were unlikely to encounter anything significant in the way of opposition, so our team was to rely on stealth rather than firepower to gain entry to the facility.

I was looking forward to it very much.

At 7.20am, Captain Barkley and the team leaders emerged from the temporary HQ that had been set up in a local warehouse the evening before. After checking that everyone was in their assigned positions, and giving a final briefing to the team leaders, the action began.

The Sinnotech building was seven stories of gleaming steel and polished concrete, in the midst of over an acre of manicured lawns and gardens. Obviously, no expense had been spared in either its construction, or its appearance. However, the environmentally friendly exterior of the building belied its High level of security, with large retracting bollards encircling the area outside the entrance, and metal detection scanners visible through the entrance. Numerous security personnel had been spotted and marked for neutralisation, but it was still no easy target, with unknown factors posing the greatest risk.

Regardless, we were ready for almost anything they could throw at us.

Group one stormed the front of the building, encountering momentary opposition from the reception area security personnel who were clearly unprepared for the action. Of the five guards encountered, only one caused any difficulty, attempting to reach for something underneath the security desk, before freezing with the muzzles of a half dozen assault rifles pointed at his head. With a startled look on his face, his hands slowly withdrew from underneath the counter and were secured behind him, before he joined his colleagues under guard by two Rangers. The remainder of the group continued through the area, spreading out in groups of two and three to check all offices for staff. A few stragglers emerged, bewildered, from various places, but given the early raid, few full time workers were present to complicate matters. They continued through the corridors to the main computer server room, which was cordoned off and isolated, allowing Ranger technicians to lock down the systems from external tampering and hacking. Within the hour, the techs had backed up all the relevant information, and had forwarded it through to HQ for processing.

The second team stormed through the rear, and immediately struck trouble, encountering a group of suited security personnel packing a surprisingly heavy assortment of weapons. The reason for their presence soon became apparent, as once the Rangers began returning fire, shouts rang out from the individuals inside. It appears several members of the Board, including the Sinnotech CEO himself, had been in the building early for a meeting, and had been taken completely by surprise by the Rangers raid. After much blustering and threats of legal action, the Board realised that the game was up, and offered their unconditional surrender. Their security detail had their weapons confiscated, and the Individual Board members were shortly escorted, coughing and spluttering through the dust and rubble of the rear entrance to the vans waiting for them.

Our entry began uneventfully. Given the entry to the lab levels was via the rear loading dock area, several Rangers approached the secured loading bay roller doors with petrol powered demolition saws and hand held rams, and quickly cut access openings through the heavy sheet metal of the doors. The dock itself was deserted, although several small trucks were backed onto the loading platform, ready for loading.

We proceeded to the end of the docks and entered a short corridor leading to the alcove where the fire stairs were located. During the briefing, there had been debate as to whether to use the lifts for a speedy access, but it was felt the risk of a trap was simply too high. It would be easy enough for Sinnotech staff to immobilise the lift between levels, effectively trapping us in a makeshift steel prison. Also, the risk of booby traps was there, although unlikely. While the stairs were the longer route, at least they provided a somewhat more safe entry point to the levels below.

However, it became apparent fairly quickly that our "surprise" entry was turning out to be anything but a surprise. From our first entry, we quickly became aware of the large number of CCTV cameras located throughout the area. When several began following our progress through the stairwell entry, we quickened our pace, as the element of surprise had been lost, and now time was of the essence.

To make matters worse, our initial briefing suggested there were only 3 floors below the main basement level. When we finally reached B13, many levels below the estimated final level, the much greater extent of the complex became apparent. This was no "small" facility! Several of our group split off to investigate the various darkened levels we passed, leaving just Ranger Smith and myself to enter the final level, where the main laboratory was supposed to be located. We crept through the stairwell doors and proceeded to slip through the darkened offices towards the dimly lit entry door leading to the main lab facility.

Smith went first, cautiously turning the handle of the doorway, and began slipping through into the work area beyond, when a hail of bullets shattered the door and adjacent plaster board wall, and ripping chunks out of the office furniture behind us. While I was relatively protected behind a metal filing cabinet, Smith wasn't so fortunate, with several of them striking him in the chest and legs. While his body armour protected him from the more fatal shots, one penetrated his upper thigh, causing him to drop to the floor with a curse. Reaching out from my protection, I grabbed him by the collar of his flack jacket, and dragged him back towards me. Bullets continued to fly through the air above us, but at least we were somewhat safe where we were.

Quickly grabbing a triangular bandage from my field kit, I tied it tightly above his wound, while applying a pressure bandage to the wound itself to assist in controlling the bleeding. While the dressing quickly turned crimson, at least it managed to staunch the majority of the blood flowing from the wound, buying us some time to get him proper medical attention.

I reached for my shoulder radio, attempting to call in for reinforcements, but only static came through. Fuck! The thick concrete walls and depth of the lab underground stopped any radio transmissions from penetrating to the others.

Shit. We're on our own here!

By this stage, Smith had entered shock, his white, pasty skin and dripping perspiration ruling out his continuing further. I made him as comfortable as I could, before taking a deep breath and readying myself to continue. We NEEDED those labs secure! Any delays could result in their destruction, and Sinnotech may just slip through our grasp!

While the weapons fire had subsided, I held no doubts whoever they were waiting for me beyond the doorway were still there. The door remained partially opened, so with Smith safe behind me, I slipped on my respiratory gear, grabbed an immobilisation canister from my kit, thumbed the activator, and tossed it through the opening into the lab beyond.

These canisters, a combination of flash-bang and tear gas grenade, were the perfect way to incapacitate an enemy at close quarters. The loud concussive noise, especially in confined spaces, worked to disorientate and disable an enemy, while the tear gas effectively rendered them unable to continue fighting. Unless they were prepared to deal with the gas, at least, it provided a fast, relatively safe method of dealing with an opponent, without having to resort to lethal force.

Once the concussion passed, and tear gas began pouring from the door opening, loud coughs and retching noises, accompanied by the clatter of several weapons hitting the floor, met our ears. I jumped to my feet, kicking the door in with a boot, and turned my rifle on the occupants beyond. Three of them were sitting or lying on the floor, one already unconscious. A second man went for a knife, but the butt of my rifle striking his head quickly deterred him from further action, and he joined his motionless colleague on the floor. The third occupant, barely capable of movement, lay down on my barked orders, with hands behind his back, and I quickly secured his hands, as well as those of his colleagues, with cable ties.

Leaving them where I found them, I quickly returned to Smith, who gave me a somewhat shaky thumbs up, indicating he was OK for the moment. So I returned through the lab, checking cautiously for other adversaries, before finding the place deserted.

By this point, we were out of time. I needed to check the rest of the facility, and could no longer wait for the rest of the group to meet up back here. Gritting my teeth, I passed through the huge darkened area, to a doorway marked "Animal storage", and cautiously entered.

My first impression was of a zoo. Row upon row of gleaming metal cages, small stacked upon large, led away into the dimly illuminated distance. The room was enormous, easily stretching several hundred feet in both directions. This was no small-scale facility!

The second thing to hit me was the stench. Blood, shit and fear.

Many of the cages were occupied, by a variety of pokemon of all species. In the distance, the screaming cries of several pierced the darkness. However, given the number of cages, the cries of those remaining were pityingly few.

Most of them were already dead, their congealed blood forming large, dark pools on the concrete floor below.  
Fuck! Too late!

A loud shot tore through the silence, followed by yet another gurgling shriek, which died off into a whisper. Someone was still here, killing the pokemon!

I crept down the corridor of cages, carefully watching my footing in the slippery gore below. Yet another shot rang out, and another cry. Finally making my way down to the far wall, I spied a human form in front of the last of the large cages, holding a pistol pointed at the occupant inside. Clearly, this wasn't going to end until they were all dead.

Fuck this. No more!

I unslung my rifle from my shoulder, and took a bead on the gun holder. With a press of the trigger, I sent a bullet through the upper torso of the figure, who spun with a scream, weapon flying from his hand to land against the cages nearby. He then dropped to the floor motionless, a pool of his own blood mingling with that dripping from the cages nearby.

Cautiously moving forward, I approached the prone figure, prodding it with my rifle barrel.  
The large hole left in his left upper chest told me he wasn't killing any more pokemon today.

I glanced into the cage, spotting a large blue creature slumped motionless on the floor inside. I couldn't see any blood, so I shouldered my weapon and decided to enter and check further. Before I could unlock the cage door, the silence was broken behind me, while a cold pistol barrel pressed behind my right ear.

"Ranger Scott", a cold, calculating voice spoke, "Fancy seeing you here!"

You got to be fucking joking! I know that voice!  
It couldn't be...

"Drop the weapon, and kick it towards the wall" the voice demanded. I removed my rifle slowly, letting the shoulder strap slip through my fingers as I lowered the weapon to the floor. Using the tip of my boot, I nudged it hard, sending it skittering away until it vanished underneath the nearby cages.

"Now, turn around...slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them"

I did as directed, feeling the pistol barrel slide around to my forehead, and found myself face to face with the scowling visage of Dr Jameson himself.

Shit!

He backed off several paces, keeping the pistol barrel pointed steadily in my direction, while sparing a quick glance to his colleague lying motionless on the floor. He motioned with the gun that I back off even further, until I was pressed against the cages behind me.

"Seems poor Danny didn't finish the job I set him to do. Poor Danny. Never could complete what he started".

With a snarl twisting his features, Jameson gave the corpse a swift, hard kick to the side, sending a splatter of blood across the floor, before regaining his composure and turning back towards me.

"You and that pet of yours have cost me a lot of time and money, Ranger Scott." he said, waving the gun barrel towards me. "I'm almost surprised you're bright enough to have gotten this far"

"Wasn't hard, given the mess your lackeys made of their poaching up in the mountains. I should have known that was your handiwork. I'm surprised I didn't recognise the stench of your involvement immediately, even over the carrion smell of those pokemon you had slaughtered" I spat at him, eyeing the gun warily. I'd hoped he might become angry, losing concentration and allowing an opportunity to rush him, but he didn't take his eyes off me a second time.

He smiled a cold, tight smile, before replying further.

"Nice try, Ranger Scott. While my patience in dealing with you wore quite thin a long time ago, don't consider yourself intelligent enough to outwit me so easily. I dealt with your animal without issue, and dealing with you won't expend a neuron"

My vision clouded a bit, as I took in what he said "What do you mean..." I began, before he interrupted.

"Oh yes, we arranged that little warehouse "demonstration demolition" last year that caused you Rangers so much difficulty. Consider it payback for the trouble your animal caused when leaving our facility so many years ago."

He leaned forward menacingly "Do you think I had forgotten that, Ranger Scott? That your animal has caused me to lose over a decade of hard work, as well as discrediting all the research we had done to date? He made a laughing stock of me, Ranger. No one ever does that! When Sinnotech offered me the opportunity to pursue my research out of the public spotlight, I jumped at the opportunity. Especially as they were so keen in offering their assistance in settling the score I had with your pet pokemon. It worked so perfectly, too, didn't it, Ranger Scott."

He began slowly pacing across from where I stood, eventually stopping with his back against the cage containing the large pokemon his colleague had been about to shoot. The animal didn't move, remaining motionless on the floor in the half darkness.

He continued "I do admit feeling a great deal of satisfaction hearing of your fall from grace, Ranger. All that time alone in the mountains, moping over your devastating loss. What a tragedy! The humanity! I had hoped you'd make it a permanent solution, but you again decided to involve yourself in business that didn't concern you. Such a stupid mistake to make"

I decided to try and delay him further, as he seemed so keen on spilling the beans on his operation, and knowing that backup could arrive any second.

"So, what was it you were doing up there, Jameson? We only attended due to the noise your people were making. What was it? Explosives?"

He chuckled nastily. "We prefer to call it a "wide ranging DNA collection technique", ourselves. A group of pokemon has a hard time avoiding the blast radius from such well placed detonations, especially when they're located on trails so frequently used. Why bother with individual samples, when you can do a mass collection so easily"

I ground my teeth at his egotistical posturing, while trying to think of any way to distract him further.

He smiled unpleasantly, while waving the gun around slightly towards the cages.

"As you can see, you were not very effective in preventing us concluding our research. We have all the information we need, and now have the means to eradicate these pokemon "vermin" as we choose. Selective DNA extermination, you see, Ranger Scott. Target the species, release the pathogen, and eliminate the animals in the area. Rather elegant, don't you think?"

While he was speaking, the large blue bundle of fur in the darkened cage began to move, slowly putting its arms underneath itself, and clambering to its knees. It was difficult to determine exactly what it was in the darkened room, apart from the fact whatever it was, it was quite big. I avoided glancing at it, trying to keep Jameson's attention on myself, as the last thing I needed was for it to be shot before I had an opportunity to deal with him. It silently staggered to its feet in the gloom, and began slowly moving towards the front of the cage where Jameson was now leaning.

"Well, Ranger Scott, I have to say, while it has been such a pleasure talking to you yet again, I think we've exhausted the possibilities of this conversation quite nicely. I think it's time for you to die now, Ranger Scott. Your meddlesome interference with my activities has become rather tiresome. Goodbye now!"

With that, he raised the gun and took aim at my chest. Two shots rang out, with the muzzle flash lighting the area. I felt a tearing pain in my right shoulder, and another in my abdomen. While the body armour was designed to stop a chest shot, it was less effective in the lower or peripheral areas. The bullets pierced through the shielding, throwing me backwards against the cages behind me, before I slid to a sitting position on the floor, gasping in pain. I reached down, pressing my good hand to the area of burning pain just below my ribs, only to feel them become coated in hot, sticky warmth. I brought my fingers up, seeing them caked in blood, before trying to struggle to my feet again. While my legs threatened to give out, I was able to struggle to my feet, leaning heavily against the cages behind me while I tried vainly to keep my balance.

"A tenacious bastard, aren't you, Ranger Scott" I heard Jameson say maliciously, before he chuckled and again brought the muzzle up towards me. This time, pointing unerringly at my head.

I coughed, and almost doubled up with the pain emanating from my wounds, but still able to let out a gurgling laugh in reply. "Trust a useless prick like you not even to be able to shoot straight, Jameson. For a supposedly smart guy, you really are a fucking imbecile. Want me to move a bit closer, so you can get it right this time?" Spitting blood towards him, I lifted a middle finger in salute, before settling back against the cages with another hacking laugh.

The smile dropped from his face, replaced by a snarl of rage, as his finger tensed, pulling back on the trigger a third time.

Then the room exploded into flames.

The pokemon that had been stalking up behind Jameson let out a screaming roar of rage, engulfed by an aurora of intense fire that I could feel from where I leant a dozen meters away. Jameson whirled towards the cage, bringing up the pistol to bear on the creature, only to be met with a massive fireball erupting from its mouth, which engulfed his body after incinerating the front of the cage before him. While releasing a long shriek of agony, Jameson tried to step away from the beast, but it then rushed towards him, impaling his chest with its claws. With a final gurgle, scorched hands weakly scrabbling at its chest, Jameson's smouldering corpse finally slid from the creature's grip, to fall in a charred heap at its feet. Standing over the charred body, it let loose a chilling roar of victory, before turning its attention in my direction.

Eyes blazing menacingly, and claws dripping red, it began moving towards me, the heat radiating from its body blurring its outline. I began to lift an arm to shield my face from being scalded, only to feel something further tear in my wound, and a flood of wetness began soaking through my fingers. A new wave of agony raced through me, while my vision began dimming further. As the hand staunching my wound fell away weakly, I began sliding down the cages supporting me, towards the concrete floor beneath.

The creature leaned over me, eyes gleaming menacingly, before it reached out with a paw to grab me by the shoulder, halting my fall and pulling me towards it. The eyes blinked, losing much of their maniacal gleam and, as its flames began to die down, I heard a stuttered voice speak hesitantly...  
"Sssc...otty?"

I couldn't hold myself together further. As I began to black out for the final time, slipping into the swirling darkness, I heard it scream my name again, as I was crushed against it.

"Scoooootty...!"

Then the darkness engulfed me, and I knew no more.

* * *

**Concluding in Chapter 11: Absolution.**


	11. Chapter 11: Absolution:

**The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby**

**DISCLAIMER:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Absolution.**

The light was too bright.  
It was the first thing I became aware of, apart from the throbbing beat of my pulse through my temples.  
It shone harshly from above, penetrating my closed eye lids.  
I wondered why it was so bright.

After a while, it began to sink into my consciousness that perhaps, I wasn't dead.  
I couldn't seem to remember why I should have been dead, but it seemed important, somehow.  
I still wasn't able to recall why, though.

Perhaps I really was dead?  
It seemed kind of dull, if it was.  
Again, I couldn't work out why.

I tried opening my eyes, but the glare was too much, too soon. The pain stabbed into my temples, and I groaned slightly, before working up the courage to try again.

This time, while it still hurt, it was not as painful as before. Another good thing, I thought, but again wasn't sure why this was the case.  
The ceiling, as it slowly came into focus, was too white.

"Unfamiliar ceilings", I thought to myself, before bringing a hand up to rub my lids, trying to make sense of where I was.

I attempted to turn my head, but something prevented my doing so. Reaching past my ear with a shaking hand, I found the reason; two foam blocks were keeping my head still. I pushed them away as best I could, with one falling from the bed to the floor below with a dull thump

Odd, the thought came to me. That seems odd.

This time, as I looked at the ceiling, other things began to clear. The chrome rails, for example, with cheap, plastic curtains hanging limply from rings beneath them. There was also the low buzz of distant conversation, muted to the point of incoherence, which seemed particularly grating. It didn't seem right, if I was dead, for the noises to be so irritating.

Perhaps I wasn't dead, after all.

I tried getting up, but the sharp pain in my shoulder, and dull ache in my stomach, stopped me cold.

I ran my hands down from my neck, encountering the mass of bandages covering my shoulder.  
Bandages.  
Hospital.  
I was in a hospital.

Why was I in a hospital?

I just couldn't seem to get my head together. My thoughts swam around in a fuzzy haze of deliberation, on where I was and what had happened...

I suddenly tried sitting up, a jolt spasming through my form, before I slumped groaning back onto the hospital cot.  
I'd been shot! I remembered that suddenly!  
That fucker had shot me!  
Jameson! Son of a bitch!

Things became clearer, as the memories began to come flooding back.  
The lab.  
The dead.  
All the dead.  
Those blood red eyes bearing down on me!

What had happened?  
I wasn't dead. So what had happened?

Still lying back, I reached gingerly down my chest towards my stomach, feeling for the wound I knew had to be there, somewhere.

That seemed strange. My belly felt fuzzy.  
Why did my belly feel fuzzy?

I moved my hand along the fuzziness, tracing it back to a large, furry lump on the sheets next to me.  
As I ran my fingers through the fur, caressing the warm softness, it stirred fitfully, before letting out a groan and moving out from underneath my fingers, which dropped back onto the sheets limply.

I groaned myself, attempting again to sit up, and this time succeeding in lifting my neck far enough to look down at my body.  
I found myself gazing into a pair of blood red eyes.  
I recalled those eyes. They'd haunted my dreams since things went black after I was shot.

The eyes blinked, before suddenly starting, and a large blue and cream shape moved forward into view, as I lay back down with a sigh.  
Suddenly I knew those eyes, and realised I must be dead.  
Because those eyes were dead.  
They'd been dead for over a year.

I reached out tentatively, and pressed my fingers against the cheek of the typhlosion leaning over me.  
"Hey", I said, lamely.

He blinked again, and leaned into my hand, bringing his paw up to cup it against his cheek.  
"Hey", he said.

"You're not dead?" I asked, still trying to gather my thoughts together.  
"Not anymore", he replied with a wan grin, before continuing "Nor are you"  
"Oh, good", I said, before being engulfed in a huge hug from above.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, as he buried his face in my neck, I caressed the soft, soft fur on his back, before running my hands gently up to his head. I gently teased his ears, as he began sobbing into my shoulder with great, heaving gasps, tears leaking down my cheeks freely.

After what seemed an eternity, his sobbing slowed, before he pulled away slightly and stared again into my face.  
"I missed you", he said with a hiccup.  
I smiled back at him, and caressed him gently "Yeah, I missed you too, butthead"  
He gave a soft, stuttering giggle, and then sniffed deeply "Yeah, but you fucking stink, you know. You need a bath!"  
I grinned back. "You can talk!", I said, before pulling him back into my arms, dragging his hairy butt up onto the bed, and snuggling against him.  
He didn't resist too hard.

It wasn't too long before we had a visitor.  
A slightly embarrassed cough from the other side of the curtains advised of his arrival.

Storm made to get off the bed, but I kept my arms tightly around him, stopping him leaving. He turned his head over his shoulder, eyeing me curiously, when I leaned against his ear and whispered "Fuck 'em. You're not going anywhere".  
He gave a grin, before relaxing back against me with a sigh.

After he settled, I gave permission for the person to enter, and Captain Barklay drew back the curtain with a quick wrench.  
Looking down at us, he raised an eyebrow briefly, before giving a shrug and a smile, and sitting with a sigh into the visitors chair next to the bed.

"Discovered the good news already, I see", he began, eyeing the typhlosion on the bed next to me.

"Seems like his death was a bit overrated", I replied, while Storm gave a snort of laughing agreement.

"Yours too, it seems. Thought we'd lost you for a while"

"Thought the same, Sir. Tried being dead, but it was very dull. The ceiling there was very bright, and really boring"

He raised an eyebrow again curiously, and looked to pursue it further, before changing his mind. Instead, he began debriefing me on what occurred after my unexpected exit from the raid.

"Well, after you left the party, the remainder of your group caught up with Ranger Smith, who was trying to get through to you in the lab. He'd crawled over half the way there, leaving a bloody mess everywhere, before the others found him. Seems he'd heard all the shots, and thought you'd need some backup"

Leaning back with a sigh, he stuck his legs up onto the bed next to Storm, who moved over obligingly, making him room.

"Radio's were still out down there, but one of your team tore back up the stairwell, until he re-established communication. His message came through clearly enough for us to send down a whole party after you. After the medics finish stabilising Smith, the rest came into the labs looking for your carcass. Fuck, what a mess it was in there. Been a while since I've seen that much carnage"

He eyed Storm, who stared back at him unblinking, before he turned back to me.

"This one nearly got himself shot though. Haven't seen anything like how he looked in a lifetime in the Rangers. Thought he was going to rip the entire squad into pieces, before he calmed down enough to let us through to attend you. You were...well...pretty fucked up, Scotty. They pumped over three litres of blood into you, and that was before you even made it to the hospital. The trauma team gave you only a thirty percent chance of survival."

He paused, rubbing a temple with a gnarled hand.

"Could have told them Rangers are made of much tougher stuff than that, though. The odds amongst your colleagues were at 5:1 you making it. Make it you did, too. Even out of it, you kept searching for Storm, and he didn't leave your side bar to eat and shit since you were brought here. Well, we did get him to wash the blood off himself, at least. Near terrified the staff here to death. Looked like a walking slaughter house"

He gave Storm a wink, and received a coughing laugh in return, before he settling back in his chair.

"Far as the raid went, apart from your near death experience, it was a major success. Sinnotech, as a problem in our backsides, is no more. Apart from being indicted with nearly every charge imaginable, they were completely caught up in that Jameson mess. What started as mild public anger, soon changed into huge moral outrage, especially once the media finished releasing the recording we had from your shoulder camera. A few in the government, not to mention the lawyers acting for Sinnotech, tried denying their involvement in the whole thing, but there's nothing like a good, bloody death bed confession to discredit them completely. At least Jameson did us all one big favour, however unwittingly, before he became a barbeque. I think they can all kiss their freedom goodbye for a long, long time, once the trial finishes"

I listened in silence, before giving him a puzzled glance, moving around a bit to get into a more comfortable position against the fur ball hogging the bed.

"The trial has started already? How long have I been in here?"

Storm piped up quietly from within my arms. "Two months, Scotty", he said, and Barklay nodded in agreement.

I shuddered, realising just how closely I'd come to meeting the reaper. Two months? No wonder I felt like shit!

"So, what do we do now?" I asked. Captain Barklay raised an eyebrow, and gave a grunt of amusement.

"I think you probably deserve a holiday, Ranger Scott" he said, and I felt Storm nod vigorously in agreement.

* * *

Getting released from the bloody hospital wasn't as easy as I'd hoped. Apart from my wounds needing further time to heal, the extended period in bed resulted in all sorts of muscle wasting issues, and I endured another 3 months of intensive physiotherapy before they were prepared to even consider whether I was ready for the outside world.

After much argument, and on the threat of both our resignations from the Rangers, the medico's finally relented, albeit reluctantly, to let us return to the mountain posting to recuperate. We'd both left the hospital nothing but skin and bones, although our condition had improved a bit under the diligent care of the nursing staff. Certainly, we were still a long way off being considered "recovered".

Returning to the cabin was a relief. The media frenzy following our release was exhausting, and it took Captain Barklay and a whole team of Rangers to help us escape the hoard to the relative safety and quiet of the mountain cabin. While the media pursued us relentlessly, the Ranger presence guarding the main road into the area deterred all but the most obnoxious, who soon found themselves in a world of shit if they tried continuing to hound us.

I pushed open the cabin door, after raiding the fridge for some cold beers. The hinges still squeaked, but surprisingly, I didn't seem to care as much as I once did, leaving the dark cabin interior for the bright afternoon sunshine of early autumn. The brisk, fresh mountain air felt wonderfully chilled in my lungs, and I leaned back with arms behind my head, stretching my spine and giving a groan of pleasure. My shoulder still ached like a bitch whenever the cold air met it, so I gave it a rub before shutting the door behind me.

Storm was relaxing in an old cane lounge that sat under the eaves of the veranda, although he sat up quickly enough to catch the beer I tossed towards him. Puncturing the pull tab with a claw, he took a long gulp from the can, before leaning back with a sigh, staring quietly at the mountain scenery. I slumped down in the seat next to him, throwing one arm over his shoulders while flicking open my brew with my other hand, and taking a lengthy sip myself.

By Arceus, it tasted good!

Since returning, the place seemed so much...better, somehow.

The difference was life changing.

Life was good.

I'd asked Storm how he'd escaped the warehouse explosion, and his story was pretty chilling. It seemed Jameson had planned the entire thing. All those dead Rangers were nothing but a distraction to his main goal, which was to bring Storm back under his control.

After the group had entered the warehouse, they were caught in wire netting that dropped from the ceiling above. While they had tried to fight their way out, their captors simply stunned the team with gas, before dragging Storm out of the mesh, half unconscious, and throwing him in a waiting cage. He'd barely heard the explosion they had triggered to mask all evidence of their scheming. The rest of the Rangers they left to die in the conflagration.

He'd woken up in another cage, within the underground Sinnotech facility. His first view on regaining consciousness was of Jameson smiling darkly at him from beyond the bars. He'd tried reasoning with the guards, even threatening them to let him go, but was met only with silence, and the butts of their weapons. Regular beatings and lack of nutrition had sapped his strength, to the point where attempting escape was virtually impossible. Not that he didn't try, again and again, but with every failure came further beatings, and as his strength deserted him, he was ultimately left to rot in the cage in isolation.

Unfortunately, Jameson was a regular visitor; his cutting comments and snide threats a form of psychological torture. Whenever he replied to the taunts, the guards either tasered him into silence, or beat him unconscious. Eventually, he simply let Jameson ramble on; his threats gaining nothing but silence from the pokemon.

The weeks turned into months, and all hope of rescue had passed. With the systematic torture of the other pokemon weighing so heavily on him, he became resigned to his eventual death at the callous hands of his captors.

When Jameson finally announced his intention to "test" his toxin on the typhlosion within the week, it almost came as a relief.

However, what eventuated instead, was the Ranger's raid.

The rest was history.

I rested my head against Storms shoulder, taking another sip of my beer, and letting out a contented sigh.

He turned to me with a half grin on his muzzle, gave a loud belch, and asked the question that had been plaguing me since we returned to the mountains.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked curiously.

I looked out over the mountain vista, which had turned a cascade of golden highlights in the approaching twilight, and exhaled loudly in return

"We do what we have to do, butthead. We go on."

His forehead creased in a frown, as he pondered the reply.

"Together?" he asked.

I embraced him closely, and whispered back.

"Always together..."

* * *

**The end of things...**


End file.
